


Crimson Peak

by TwoBoys2Love



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bottom Sam, Character Death, Description of dead body, Dubious Consent, First Kiss, First Time, Hurt Castiel, Infidelity, M/M, Sick Sam, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 09:07:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 40,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8366500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwoBoys2Love/pseuds/TwoBoys2Love
Summary: In the aftermath of a series of family tragedies, Sam Wesson finds himself swept off his feet by the debonair Baronet Dean Winchester. When he arrives at his new home he discovers a place with far too many memories and spirits. Things are not at all what they seem and Sam finds himself struggling to stay alive. Based on the Del Toro film: Crimson Peak





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Crimson Peak](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/237163) by Guillermo del Toro. 



> Thank you fiercelynormal and dugindeep for running spn_cinema on Livejournal! It's my favorite writing challenge.
> 
> Thank you all_the_damned for being such a great artist and being fun to work with. Please check out the art here http://all-the-damned.livejournal.com/10659.html . Thanks also for beta reading my work for me.
> 
> Without the film "Crimson Peak" written and directed by Guillermo del Toro I wouldn't have been able to write something like this. The film is beautiful and dark and definitely one of my favorites. I kept some of the original lines because they were too perfect to change - but many I changed and just kept the feel of them.

**Buffalo, NY, Late 1880s**

Sam had always believed in ghosts. When he was a child, his parents had died in a strange fire. Sam had been spared as he’d been staying with a friend. He could remember their faces if he concentrated, but he remembered his Uncle more clearly. Robert Singer had come to get Sam from his friend’s home, and Bobby’s big hand had held Sam’s at his parents’ funeral. Clear as day, Sam could remember the big black coffins passing by on the shoulders of his father’s friends. The rain moved along the shiny coffin lids in blood-like rivulets. 

There had been no reason for him to see his parents’ bodies. After all, they would have been burned beyond recognition. It was an image that any child should be spared from. Ten-year-old Sam hadn’t been entirely spared though.

The night of the funeral as Sam lay in bed, he heard strange noises over the sound of rain pattering down on the roof high above. Tilting his head slightly, Sam had gazed around the dark room. Only the occasional flash of lightning brightened the dimly lit corners. Sam remembered how tense his small body had been. His fists had clenched the heavy blanket drawn up over him and his eyes had trailed along the wall and settled on the solid teak door. There was a rattling sound in the hall, the door knob turned and Sam rolled quickly to face the wall. With his hazel eyes wide, Sam trembled as he heard the strange moaning sound that accompanied the click of the door opening. 

The sound grew closer and Sam started when ethereal, ash-darkened tendrils of hair trailed over his blanket. The smell of burned meat was thick in the darkness and Sam felt the scent like oil clinging to his skin. He shivered as hot tears fell silently down his cheeks. 

Long bony fingers pushed their way into Sam’s tousled blonde hair as he lay frozen in fear. Sam panted softly and stared straight ahead. He only caught brief glimpses of the entity that was visiting him but he could _feel_ its presence like heavy wet clay covering him.

“Beware, my son,” the entity had hissed. The voice was breathy and weak but there was something oddly familiar about it. “Beware the Crimson Peak.”

When Sam had opened his mouth to yell, no sound had come out. Through his silent scream, he could taste the salt of his tears.

**Ten years later**

Sam tightened the small knot he had tied in his dark tie and pulled down the short collar. The stiff white collar was already chafing the skin on the back of his neck and he grimaced. It wouldn’t do to go to his uncle’s office building in _casual_ dress though. If Bobby Singer was anything, it was a bit of a stickler for Victorian dress rather than modern fashion. Sam was lucky he was able to get away with wearing brown trousers rather than his uncle’s preferred black.

Before he left the mirror, Sam pulled his long hair back and tried to gather it up with a black ribbon. The length of Sam’s hair was another thing that he and Bobby discussed regularly. It wasn’t that Sam had a particular concern for his appearance, it just seemed like a waste of time and money to get it cut regularly by a barber. As soon as he had turned 18, Bobby had insisted on a membership for him at the Men’s baths down the street. Sam bathed there and shaved each morning but he wouldn’t give in to having short hair. Bobby said that Sam had a stubborn streak.

Grabbing his leather satchel from the wingback chair, Sam yanked the door open and headed out. He ran down the broad staircase and nearly bumped into the maid before darting to the side at the bottom landing. 

“Master Singer will have your hide if he catches you running around like that in the house,” Lisa exclaimed as Sam darted around her.

At the last moment, Sam turned back and grabbed Lisa’s waist and swung her down off the bottom step before racing off again. As he dashed out the front door he could hear Lisa muttering about how inappropriate his behavior was. He knew her well enough to hear the smile on her face though even though she would be straightening her apron self-consciously.

Sam stopped long enough to gaze across the muddy city square. The fall had been wet and cool, but Sam didn’t mind. He tugged at his collar once more, straightened his frock coat and headed out. 

It was a big day. Bobby had discussed Sam’s writing with his colleague, Richard Roman of Roman Publishing. He had an appointment that afternoon and was hoping Mr. Roman would be able to give him some tips on refining his work for possible publication. Bobby had suggested that Sam take his story to the office and have it typed, rather than submitting handwritten pieces. In true rebellious fashion, Sam planned to learn how to use the typewriter himself rather than having one of his uncle’s employees type it for him.

As Sam arrived at the building he looked up at the bold sign hanging above the entrance: Singer Shipping & Investments Limited. The four-story brick building was one of the tallest ones on the square.

Sam headed up the front steps slowly so he could scrape some of the mud off of his boots. When he pushed open the heavy front door he could feel the vibration of the busy building.

Sam smiled and headed up the stairs he’d come to know so well over the years. He’d accompanied Bobby many times over the years, and the building was like a second home to him.

“Sam!” a familiar voice called out.

When Sam looked down over the polished banister, his childhood friend, Cas, was grinning back up at him.

The two boys had lived near each other for most of their youth. It had been at Cas’ house Sam had received the news about his parents’ death. He would never forget the kindness showed to him by his young friend. Even though they’d been too young to comprehend the fallout of the situation, Cas had stayed by Sam’s side. Cas’ mother had tried to put a wedge between them on many occasions but, happily, it had never been successful. 

There were many good memories of their friendship in Sam’s mind and they more than made up for the sadder times they had shared.

Sam headed back down the steps quickly and embraced Cas. Cas had left for University more than two years ago and Sam had only seen him at the holidays. He gripped his old friend tightly. “What are you doing here, Cas?”

As he withdrew slightly, Cas smiled warmly and straightened his vest. “I’m setting up my office on the 4th floor. It’s official, Sam. I’m a physician now.”

Pride welled in Sam’s chest and he held Cas at arm’s length so he could have a good look at him. He still had the same boyish face, bright blue eyes, hair that always looked to have been tousled by the wind; he was Cas.

“Congratulations, my friend. I’m so very proud of you.” As far back as Sam could remember, Cas had longed to help people. Studying medicine had been the only path he could take when it had come down to it. “How long have you been back?”

“Only a couple of weeks,” Cas replied. He finally released his grip on Sam’s arms and stepped back slightly. “I’ve been catching up with the family and -”

“Cas, the office is looking _very_ nice,” said a pinched female voice from behind Sam’s shoulder. He cringed. He would know that voice anywhere; it was Cas’ mother, Rowena.

“Mother, I was just speaking with Sam. He’s -”

“Sam,” Rowena interrupted. “I’m sure you are pleased to see myself and Jessica again.” Rowena had never showed the slightest fondness for Sam. He suspected it had to do with his lack of interest in Cas’ sister, Jessica. She was beautiful, to be sure, but Sam just found that they had absolutely nothing in common.

When Sam turned to face Cas’ family he forced a smile onto his face. Rowena was dressed in a dark blue taffeta day suit that was almost dark enough to reflect what her personality presented to the outside world. The waist was tiny, and the skirt clung tightly to Rowena’s hips before spreading out into a short train. Sam couldn’t see the point in wearing something quite that elaborate when there was so much mud outside. 

“My goodness, Sam,” Rowena said with a sly smile on her face. “Your hair is rather … lengthy, don’t you think?” Rowena's gown rustled as she turned to gaze knowingly at Jessica.

The tall blonde smiled at Sam but there was no warmth in her eyes. “Sam, pleasure to see you.” Jessica was in a light blue walking skirt and blouse, a pretty color, but Sam had always thought she looked better when they’d been children and playing in the garden.

Rowena smoothed the front of her dress with her hands. “Jessica has caught the eye of a _real_ gentleman with a _title_.”

Sam was certain he heard Cas chuckle softly.

“That’s lovely,” Sam murmured even though he didn’t mean a single word.

“He’s a Baronet,” Rowena said with enough bite in her words to make Sam blink back a grin.

Cas leaned back against the railing and sighed. “I’m sure that Sam doesn’t want to hear about Jessica’s social conquests, Mother. And, what, exactly, is a Baronet?”

Rowena pressed her lips together and looked away as she fussed with one of Jessica’s long blonde curls.

She obviously had no idea what the title meant.

Sam squared his shoulders and forced a warm smile onto his face. “A Baronet is, no doubt, a man with great fashion sense and a dull enough mind to be interested in social niceties.”

Rowena sucked in a sharp breath and stepped back looking quite offended.

“Pleasure to see you, Cas.” Sam winked at his friend and stepped past Rowena and Jessica to head upstairs. Little victories.

~~~~~~~

It took a lot more pressure to push the keys of the typewriter than Sam had expected. The result was very impressive, though. Sam thought it would definitely be worth the effort. And it would be a great deal of effort. It had taken Sam all morning to type a couple of chapters.

One of Bobby’s employees had spent nigh on an hour instructing Sam on how to use the new machine. As far as Sam was concerned, the parts of the machine sounded more like a machine for sewing more than anything else. There was an aligning scale, a ribbon, a carriage release and a spool. Sam happened to be poking at the spool when he became aware that someone was standing in front of the desk.

When Sam looked up he blinked slowly. The man standing in front of the desk had the most handsome face Sam had ever seen. Dark blonde hair was swept back in a wave off his forehead and disappeared under his top hat. But his eyes were startling. They were an astounding shade of green and filled with warmth as he swept his top hat from his head. 

The man was wearing a dark blue Davenport coat that he filled out perfectly. Black trousers, a black satin vest over a crisp white shirt and a black cravat completed the look. Sam mused about how Bobby would approve of the gentleman’s dress.

“Good morning, I have an appointment with Mr. Robert Singer.” The gentleman tugged his black leather gloves off then handed Sam his calling card.

“Sir Dean Winchester, Baronet,” Sam read as he stared at the small card. “You have a meeting with the big man himself.” Sam smiled.

“Yes, I’ve been looking forward to meeting Mr. Singer for quite some time,” the Baronet answered. He tucked his gloves under his arm and leaned forward to see what Sam was working on.

“Don’t call him Mr. Singer,” Sam said teasingly. “He absolutely detests that.” It was true. Bobby was fond of saying, _I wasn’t raised to be a mister anyone._

“I was thinking of referring to him as Robert,” the Baronet said. He picked up one of the pages that Sam had typed up.

“Oh don’t call him that either,” Sam answer while chuckling. He could see that Jessica’s Baronet wasn’t going to get himself in trouble.

“I’m sorry to be so bold, but this is rather good. Who are you typing this for?” The man leaned down and picked up another few pages and flipped through them.

“Do you think so?” Sam answered. He could feel warmth creeping along the peak of his cheeks. 

“Well, yes, don’t you agree?” The Baronet … Sir Winchester kept those green eyes fixed on the page and Sam could see that he was quickly scanning through the words.

“It’s mine, Sir Winchester,” Sam offered quietly. “I wrote it. I’m meeting with a potential publisher later and thought I would try typing it.”

“ _Please_ , just Dean. Your story has a ghost in it.” He tilted his head slightly and flipped to another page.

“Well, yes, but it’s just -”

“I believe in ghosts. I always have. I find it hard to believe that, as emotional and spiritual as we can be, that we simply cease to exist when our hearts cease to beat.” When he looked up at Sam, his gaze was piercing.

Sam swallowed and reached out for the papers. His fingers brushed _Dean’s_ and it was like being shocked; he snatched the papers back to his chest quickly and lowered his gaze.

“You must be Baronet Winchester.” Sam had been too focussed on Dean to notice his Uncle arriving. “I see you’ve already met my nephew, Sam,” Bobby said shortly. 

“Nephew. Ah.” Dean reached out and shook Bobby’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Sir. Sam was just getting me acquainted with the place.” Dean looked back over at Sam and flashed him a smile that made Sam’s insides ache.

“Let’s get started, shall we, Sir Dean?” Bobby turned brusquely and headed along to the meeting room.

Dean took a few steps backward as he began to follow Bobby. “Lovely to meet you, Sam. A … pleasure.” He grinned and turned to walk quickly along the corridor.

Sam watched until both men disappeared into the meeting room. Perhaps the Baronet was a _little_ more interesting than Sam had thought he might be.

~~~~~~~

The meeting room had a ring of tables with a small space in the middle for presentations. Bobby had a table in the center for the Baronet to do his presentation. It was intentional; putting pressure on people was often a good way of determining their worth, as far as Bobby was concerned.

As the Board of Advisors had meandered into the room, the Baronet had set his case on the small table that had been set up for him. He clasped his hands together and nodded as each of the men came into the room. Bobby watched from just outside the door, always curious about the way people held themselves.

When Bobby finally came into the room, the Baronet looked a little nervous. There was sweat beading on his brow and he clasped his hands together as he nodded his greeting. But then, there seemed to be a lot at stake for the gentleman.

“Whenever you’re ready, Sir Dean,” said Bobby

The Baronet nodded and looked around the room once more with a slight smile on his face. Most of the men on the Board were considerably older than the young nobleman but if he felt the pressure to perform it wasn’t entirely clear in his demeanor.

“Gentleman,” Dean began. “Thank you for allowing me to discuss my proposal with you.”

As Bobby watched the Baronet began to describe the beautiful clay that pooled in the pits below Winchester Hall. The mines had successfully produced a remarkable red clay for generations. The clay was rich in ore that gave it not only its color but its strength. But the land had been over mined and new methods of retrieval were needed.

It seemed the Baronet had invented the machine that he was certain would be able to extract the valuable red clay from deep beneath the land. This was where Singer Shipping & Investments came in, no doubt. Bobby could always see a pitch for money when it was in front of him.

With a flourish, the Baronet unveiled a scale model of the harvester and flicked the switch that would set it in motion. He stood back and clasped his hands together. “Gentleman, I’m here to request your financial support for this endeavor. I am confident that this will guarantee you a considerable financial return in the future. This machine works like a complex conveyor belt. It digs deep into the soil and retrieves the liquid version of the clay. This can then be purified and baked into remarkably strong bricks.”

“Turn the machine off, Sir Dean,” Bobby interrupted.

Dean blinked slowly, then reached down to turn the small machine off. He squared his shoulders and turned to face Bobby.

“Sir,” Dean began. “I’ve come here to request your financial assistance because I believe your company is forward-thinking and innovative and that you support people who are resourceful and creative enough to have a vision for the future.”

Bobby smiled slightly. There was just something _about_ Winchester that he didn’t like and he wasn’t able to put his finger on it. “Creative; I’ll give you that. But really, what have you got besides that quaint little toy on the table?”

The Baronet’s shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly. “Sir, I’ve used most of my resources to get here. I have more will than most men and a blinding determination to make this -”

“Isn’t it true that you’ve been to four other businesses such as mine requesting funds?” Another thing that Bobby had made routine was to learn about the people who booked appointments to see him. It was surprising what you could learn with a little bit of digging. “And other cities on your … tour?”

There was a soft click behind Bobby as the meeting room door opened and Sam slipped in with some papers that he set in front of his Uncle. As Bobby watched, Sam smiled shyly at Dean. The smile was returned and Bobby raised an eyebrow.

“Here’s the thing, _Baronet_.” Bobby stood and walked over to where Dean was standing in the center of the room. “All the men you see in this room have worked incredibly hard to get where they are. This is a room where blood, sweat, and tears have paid for the wealth these colleagues of mine now manage. They have worked for every penny.”

Shaking his head slowly, Dean turned to face Singer. “I’ve worked very hard on this plan Mr. Singer and I -”

“Dean, when I shook your hand earlier I felt the hand of a man who hadn’t done any manual labor at all. It’s a soft hand; probably the softest hand I’ve ever felt on a man.” Bobby wouldn’t admit it aloud but he was a bit biased towards anyone with a title. It seemed as though they’d been handed freely what so many others had to work for.

“I assure you, Mr. Singer, I’m aware that there is hard work involved in the future of our family’s clay mines. I am confident, however, that I can restore the mines to their previous level of productivity. There’s precious little that has more value to me than the mines.” Winchester pressed his lips together and looked as determined as he claimed to be.

For a while, the room was silent and Dean kept his gaze locked on Mr. Singer’s. Finally, Dean looked over at Sam. When Bobby glance over at his nephew, he could see that Sam clearly felt sorry for the Baronet. For some reason, that rubbed Bobby the wrong way.

“Well, Sir Dean. I think we’ve heard enough for today. I’m sorry that you’ve come so far to potentially be disappointed. We will discuss your proposition.” Bobby nodded slightly and smiled at the Baronet.

Winchester was still for a few moments then nodded slowly “Thank you all for your time.”

Singer smiled and pressed his hand to Dean’s shoulder briefly. “I understand we’ll see you tonight at Rowena's soiree. I’m sure the company will be delightful.”

Dean nodded and began to pack up his model. “Yes, Sir. I’m sure it will be a lovely evening.”

Dean glanced over at Sam once more as he closed the case around his model. 

Curious, Bobby followed Winchester’s gaze. There was warmth on Sam’s face as he returned the smile. Sam had always been a bit of a soft touch when it came to people; Bobby had seen it time and again. He was certain it wouldn’t amount to anything. Besides, from what Bobby had heard, Jessica had her sights on the Baronet and not much would deter her from her goal.

~~~~~~~

Bobby was standing in front of the full-length mirror in the foyer fussing with his collar when Sam came downstairs. “Having a problem with your bowtie, Bobby?”

“I can never tie these wretched things.” Bobby turned to face Sam and threw his hands up in frustration.

“Let me,” Sam said, as he smiled. Bobby was always a little overly concerned with his appearance but it seemed worse now that his 60th birthday loomed on the horizon.

Bobby’s formal Tailcoat was black, of course, his vest a soft gray that matched his bowtie and contrasted nicely with his high-collared white dress shirt. The gold chain that disappeared into his watch pocket finished the whole ensemble. 

Sam evened out the ends of the tie and began tying it for his Uncle.

“I look old,” Bobby grumbled.

“Oh, you _do_ not. You look quite handsome.”

“Are you sure you won’t join us tonight? Cas is fetching me in his new car. He’s always been sweet on you, Sam.”

“Oh, Stop,” Sam muttered. He knew that Cas had feelings for him. It had been apparent since they were teenagers. Sam wished that he felt the same way about Cas because it would make him incredibly lucky. “You shouldn’t tease about that. Besides, it would shock everyone.”

“Oh come on. We are who we are, Sam. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Mmm.” Sam wasn’t convinced that everyone was as open minded as his Uncle. He patted the bowtie then smoothed his hands down the satin lapels of Bobby’s jacket. “Perfect.”

“Come with us; don’t make me deal with that Winchester fellow alone.”

“I think he’s much nicer than you give him credit for,” Sam offered.

“You do, do you?” Bobby raised an eyebrow and smiled slightly.

It was too late for Sam to take the words back so he decided to push a little further. “Don’t you think you were rather hard on him today? I thought his plan had potential.”

Bobby tilted his head slightly as he considered Sam’s words. “It’s not the project that I dislike so much as the man.”

Frowning, Sam stepped back slightly. “Why do you think that? I just saw a man who has a big dream and needs some help. Did you see his suit? It was beautifully tailored but it certainly wasn’t new.”

A knock at the front door interrupted their conversation and Sam found that he was a little relieved.

Lisa opened the door and Cas stepped in out of a rainy evening. He shook some water off his overcoat and grinned at Sam. “Evening.”

Sam smiled and looked down for a moment. Sometimes, Cas’ ice blue eyes were a little too intense for Sam.

“It’s just you and I, as it turns out, Cas.” Bobby slipped on his overcoat and picked up his top hat.

Cas’ smile warmed. “Well, I know Sam doesn't think too highly of this kind of social frivolity.”

When he looked up, Sam couldn't help smiling at his friend. “Both of you had better be going or you’ll be much more than fashionably late.”

As he steered Bobby towards the door, Sam leaned over and whispered to Cas, “Don’t let Bobby have too many drinks.”

“Hey!” Bobby said as he opened the door, but there was a smile on his face. He knew Sam had his best interests at heart.

Sam stepped forward quickly and kissed Bobby on the cheek. “Have fun.”

Before Sam could step back, Cas pulled him into a hug. Sam wrapped his arms around his friend. “Please have a good time.”

When Sam withdrew, he smiled and tried to smooth Cas’ hair down. “You’re a mess.”

Cas laughed and the tension of the moment seemed to dissipate. “Night, Sam.”

~~~~~~~

Sam’s bedroom was his oasis. The dark, ornate wooden walls comforted Sam. He felt safe there and always had. He was lying across the bed with papers surrounding him. He’d intended to work on his story but he’d ended up finding a book in Bobby’s vast library which contained some information about Winchester Hall.

The illustrations in the book made the mansion look beautiful but a little imposing. There was a small write up about the qualities of the fine red clay from the Winchester mines. In its heyday, the mine produced a significant portion of the clay needed by the builders in the region. It wasn’t clear why, over time, the production of the mine had slowed and, eventually, halted.

There was a knock from down the hallway and Sam looked up from his book. “Bobby? Did you forget something?”

When there was no answer, Sam sat up slowly. The house had gone oddly silent. There were none of the comforting creaks of the floors in the house, no buzz of people's’ voices out on the road; it was eerily silent for a few moments. Then, suddenly, there was a low moaning coming from behind Sam’s closed bedroom door.

Sam’s heart started to race and he slipped down off the bed and crept over to the door. The moaning was louder and it was accompanied by a raspy wheeze. It sounded like the house was breathing and Sam shuddered. “Is someone there?”

The doorknob rattled and Sam couldn’t help stepping back slightly. The moaning grew a little louder; it was a sound filled with pain and regret. 

After a deep breath, Sam stepped closer to the door again. Very slowly, carefully, he leaned in until he could press his ear to the heavy door. “What do you want?”

Somehow, Sam was _grabbed_ by something through the door. Cold hard fingers curled over his cheek and held him there as his frightened heart pounded against his ribcage.

“Beware of Crimson Peak,” the voice hissed. It felt as though the words were drilling into Sam’s mind. The cold fingers tightened their grip slightly and the moaning reached a terrifying pitch before simply disappearing.

Once the icy grip released him, Sam fell away from the door and landed hard on his hip. He cried out in pain and then heard a sharp knock at the door before it swung open.

Sam closed his eyes and raised his arm to fend off whatever might be coming through the door.

“Sam? Are you alright?”

_Lisa_

Sam peered up at the rather shocked looking face of the maid. “Help me up, Lisa?”

Lisa offered her hand quickly and Sam managed to pull himself up off the floor. He pressed a trembling hand to his chest and tried to smile at Lisa. “Startled myself, I think.”

The way that Lisa was frowning seemed to indicate she didn’t believe Sam’s simple explanation. “Sam. There’s a gentleman at the door. A Baronet Winchester?”

“What?” Sam’s mind was still whirling as he tried to come up with some kind of explanation for what he’d experienced.

Lisa’s hands were clenched tightly together. “I told him Mr. Singer was away for the evening but he’s insisting on seeing you.”

“But…” Sam nodded, realizing there wasn’t much he could do but go downstairs and see what the man wanted. “Tell him I’ll be right down. Thank you, Lisa.”

As soon as Lisa was gone, the room felt too empty and Sam looked around warily. Finally, he smoothed his shirt down and tucked it in before heading downstairs.

The sight of the Baronet stopped Sam halfway down the stairs. He smiled and nodded his greeting but stayed where he was.

“Are you alright, Sam? You’re quite pale.” The frown on Dean’s forehead showed his concern but it didn’t take away from how perfect he looked. His tailcoat was black, but his vest, gloves, bowtie, and shirt were all the same snow white color. There was a beautiful design embroidered on Dean’s vest and Sam let his eyes trail over it for a few moments.

Sam moved down a couple more steps. “I’m fine. Just not feeling quite well. Aren’t you going to the social?”

Dean nodded. The hat he held in his gloved hand had rain dripping off of it. “I am, but, I’ve come here to ask for your help.” Perfect, white teeth appeared from behind a dazzling smile.

Heat burned on Sam’s cheeks and he licked his lips self-consciously. “Do you need directions? My Uncle has already left.”

“I know, I waited outside until they left. I really wanted to speak to you.”

“I can’t imagine why.”

“I want you to accompany me tonight,” Dean said softly.

“I couldn’t possibly go -”

“Hear me out, Sam. I need your help to win over your Uncle. I’m afraid I don’t speak the same language as him. You clearly do. You could help me navigate the stormy waters and get on his good side.” The smile on Dean’s face softened. “Please, Sam. You can’t possibly want to stay here alone.”

Sam couldn’t resist the temptation to look up the stairs towards his bedroom. Dread was still tight in Sam’s chest. Dean was right; Sam didn’t want to stay there but it was because he didn’t feel as though he _was_ alone.

“Alright. Please have a seat in the drawing room. I’ll be down shortly.”

Dean’s smile brightened. He bowed slightly, nodded and sighed happily.

~~~~~~~

When Sam and Dean arrived at Rowena’s home, the door was opened by a butler. Dean ushered Sam inside and he was immediately curious about the beautiful sounds of someone playing the piano. Sam didn’t recognize the piece but it was intricate and had a haunting melody.

Dean slipped his arm through Sam’s and guided him down the hallway towards the music. Just as they entered the room, the piece of music reached a crescendo and there was a polite round of applause.

Without the slightest hesitation, Dean led Sam into the room full of people. For the span of a heartbeat, there was silence, then there seemed to be a collective intake of breath.

Unused to the attention, particularly attention received for being in the company of a Baronet, Sam’s step faltered at the threshold of the room. Dean simply tightened his hold on Sam and urged him forwards.

Slowly, the crowd parted and the two men walked into the room.

Sam’s gaze found Cas and he smiled and pulled Dean towards his friend. It was a relief to see a friendly, familiar face.

“Cas!” Sam exclaimed. “Let me introduce Sir Dean Winchester, Baronet.

For a second, Cas looked bewildered but he regained his composure quickly. “Nice to meet you, Sir. I’ve heard a great deal about you from my sister, Jessica.”

“Yes,” Dean said. “She’s delightful.”

“Although, I must confess that I wasn’t sure what your title meant,” Cas said with a twinkle in his eye.

“Baronet?” Dean asked.

Cas smiled and gestured for Dean not to worry about answering. “Fortunately, Sam was able to explain it to me.”

Feeling a little sheepish, Sam smiled weakly.

The man standing next to Cas stepped forward and held out his hand towards Sam. 

Dean stiffened slightly and smiled. “Sam, allow me to introduce my Father, Sir John Winchester.”

“Delighted to meet you, Sam. It seems you’ve been able to detain my son for quite some time.” He smiled slightly and Sam nodded because he wasn’t really sure what to say.

Fortunately, he was saved by the intervention of Rowena. “Finally, Dean, I was beginning to worry about you. If it weren’t for your _charming_ father, we wouldn’t have enjoyed ourselves at all.”

John’s smile warmed slightly as he glanced at Rowena. “Poor Jessica is convinced there are _no_ men in Buffalo who know how to waltz.” John turned to his son. “I’ve assured her that you’ll do a demonstration that proves otherwise.”

Sam stepped back slightly. He was feeling a little overwhelmed by the entire situation. He knew that Rowena certainly wasn’t pleased to see him and he probably owed her an apology.

Dean strode into the center of the room and Rowena busied herself with urging people to create space for the impending dance.

“Let’s clear a dance floor,” Rowena said gaily as she flitted about the room.

Sam followed Rowena around the room to make his apology. He could feel people looking at him and was surprised that he felt so self-conscious. He reminded himself that he was just doing a kindness for someone. Dean had asked for his help to ease his nerves about the social event and Sam was just helping him.

When Rowena finally stood still she was beaming at Jessica. Jessica was a sight in her off-the-shoulder dress. It was so bright, it looked as though she was wearing a cloud.

“Can I help you, Sam?” There was absolute frost in Rowena’s tone.

Sam swept his hair back and tried to look as appreciative as he could. “Rowena, I know you didn’t expect me to be here but -”

“Not to worry, Sam.” Rowena’s expression stopped just short of glaring. “I’m sure we can _put_ you right where you belong.”

The barb hit its mark and Sam’s smile wavered. Rather than subjecting himself to any further humiliation, Sam confined himself to a nod before he stepped back slightly.

“Ladies and Gentleman,” Dean said brightly. “I’ve been asked to demonstrate a waltz by our lovely hostess.” He smiled at Rowena and turned on his heel to look towards Cas and Bobby. “It’s a simple dance really; there are six basic steps, two partners, one leading. The real key is fluidity.” As one of the house staff passed by with a candelabra, Dean reached out and grabbed a white taper. The flame flickered slightly.

“It’s said,” Dean continued, “that the true test of a dancer’s skill at the waltz is if a candle in the hand of the lead dancer can remain lit throughout the dance.”

Sam remained where he was, trying to keep himself from staring at Dean. He had the audience in the palm of his hand. He seemed like a different person from the man who had been requesting Sam’s help earlier.

“A dance like this,” Dean continued, “requires the perfect partner.”

Sam glanced over at Jessica and watched as her eyes widened with excitement. He sighed and looked down at his hands. It seemed Jessica was about to have her chance to shine.

Light flickered in front of Sam and the candle appeared; when he looked up it was to find himself face to face with Dean. “Would you dance with me, Sam?”

A slight thrill trickled down Sam’s spine but then he heard Jessica gasp. “No. I. I’m sorry. But I know that Jessica would be delighted to.”

Dean extended his hand closer to Sam. “I dare say. But, Sam, I’m asking _you_.”

Sam stared into those remarkable green eyes and found himself sliding his hand into Dean’s.

As Dean tugged Sam into the middle of the room, he glanced over at his father. John’s expression hardened for a moment then he flipped out his coat tails and sat down at the piano once more. He spun the stool so he was facing the keyboard and pulled his sleeves up.

Dean stretched out the hand holding the candle and Sam had no choice but to let his hand follow. Once the taper was firmly grasped between their hands, Dean slipped his right hand under the front of Sam’s coat and pressed it firmly just below Sam’s shoulder blades.

“Why are we doing this?” Sam whispered. He found himself looking directly into those dazzling green eyes again.

“If you’re nervous, just close your eyes and imagine you’re somewhere else,” Dean said softly.

Sam’s eyes widened slightly as he felt the warm, sweetness of Dean’s breath against his own lips. He couldn’t look away. “I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

The smile on Dean’s face softened and he nodded slightly. The music began and after a few beats, Sam was swung into motion. Oh, he’d waltzed before but never with a man and certainly not with someone like Sir Dean Winchester.

Just the slightest pressure of Dean’s hand against Sam’s back guided him around the dance floor. He couldn’t help leaning in a little closer as they began to twirl more rapidly.

As the room disappeared in a blur of color, Sam breathed in the clean scent of Dean’s skin. He could feel the heat of Dean’s palm against the silk of his waistcoat and it was making Sam’s heart flutter. Dean’s smile faded slightly as he gazed into Sam’s eyes but they continued to whirl around the room.

The music was as intoxicating as the company. Even though Sam felt a little unsteady, he simply had to follow the pressure of Dean’s hand and allow himself to be floated around the room.

A little dizzy, Sam pressed his cheek to Dean’s. Dean’s embrace tightened and they seemed to whirl even faster. The flickering candle flame was the only thing that Sam could hear over the music and it continued to burn steadily.

When the music finally came to an end, Sam became aware of the room again. There was a round of applause and Dean brought their hands in between their bodies so that Sam could blow out the flame.

For the span of a few heartbeats, Sam wasn’t sure that he would have the breath to blow the small flame. But he did, and the smile on Dean’s face was beautiful when Sam looked over at him.

There was something about Dean Winchester that made Sam feel as though he was the most important person in the world. He could tell that it was a sensation he could easily get used to.

~~~~~~~

As the days passed, Dean requested more time with Sam. They had tea at the Singer residence, visited the local museum of natural history and did some shopping in the clothing district. But, it was the walks they took in the park that Sam found the most pleasing.

Of course, they were always accompanied by Sir John Winchester. It was appropriate for Sam and Dean to have an escort. People were already abuzz with the impropriety of a relationship between them. Sam had his suspicions that much it came from the same source and that was Rowena.

The coolness of autumn was already beginning to slip into the air and the trees in the park were slowly changing color.

Dean was reading Sam’s most recent story as they walked one day. He continued to rave about Sam’s writing and was encouraging him to approach more publishing houses.

“I think it’s the perfect mix of adventure, suspense, and love,” Dean said.

Heat crept up Sam’s neck. One of the publishers he had spoken to had suggested that his stories have a _love_ interest. Apparently, that was all the rage in literary circles.

Dean’s stride was relaxed and slow as he walked through the park with Sam at his side. “You know, Sam. I find that I don’t mind the romance at all. I wasn’t sure it would work.”

“Really?” Sam tilted his head up to feel the sun on his face.

“Romance must be difficult for you to write,” John interjected. He was wearing dark glasses and Sam found it difficult to read the elder Winchester’s expressions.

“Why do you say that?” Sam asked. 

“Father -”

John silenced his son with a look. “Sam always says that he wants critique for his writing.”

“It’s true,” Sam said even though he wasn’t certain he wanted to hear John’s opinion. The senior Winchester had a much sharper edge to him than his son. Sam often felt as though the man didn’t like him at all, but it seemed unfounded. Sam tried to be as pleasant as he could to Sir John. After all, the man had raised Dean.

Dean’s fingers brushed against Sam’s and he smiled. “I’m going to sit over here and finish these new pages.”

When Sam nodded, Dean headed over to one of the lounge chairs set up in the park.

A little nervous, Sam smiled at John as they strolled together. “I didn’t mean anything by my earlier comment. It’s just that you’re a young man, Sam. I think you have many adventures ahead of you in terms of romance and love.”

It was possibly the last subject that Sam wished to discussion with anyone, in particular, Dean’s father. 

“Let me show you something, Sam.” The low rumble of John’s voice should have been soothing but it set Sam’s nerves on edge.

“Of course.” 

They walked a short distance to one of the huge oak trees that was already dropping some of it’s more golden colored leaves. John took a knee near a pile of leaves and when Sam joined him, he realized some of the leaves were actually butterflies. “They’re beautiful.”

“They’re dying,” John said softly. “It’s become far too cold for them already. They don’t thrive without the heat of the sun.” John picked up one of the small creatures between his thumb and forefinger.

The butterfly’s wings flapped slowly and John brought it up to run it gently along his bottom lip. “Fragile creatures; often the most beautiful things are, by far, the most delicate.”

“Do you have butterflies like this at Winchester Hall?” Sam watched as the velvety wings continued to move slowly open and closed.

“No,” John answered thoughtfully. He reached out and touched the butterfly to Sam’s cheek.

The wing _did_ feel like velvet and Sam closed his eyes for a few moments to focus on the sensation.

“We have only black moths at Winchester Hall. There’s an abundance of them. Enduring creatures, to be sure,” John said. Even if they’re not the most beautiful. He set the butterfly down and watch as its movements slowed.

“What do the moths eat?” Sam asked curiously.

“Butterflies.” After a few moments, John smiled and stood. “Let’s go and see if that son of mine is hungry.”

Sam stood slowly and followed along behind John. He had no idea what to make of the man. Sometimes, the things he said seemed quite menacing. But then, it could be that he just felt protective of his son. They'd been living alone together for a _very_ long time. It could also be that Sam was finding him sinister simply because he didn’t know Sir John well enough to read his moods.

Either way, it was well worth it to spend so much time with Dean. It was frightening how quickly Sam had become accustomed to Dean’s presence.

~~~~~~~

Sam had been a bit nervous about the evening’s gathering for days. Dean had asked if it would be possible to have a dinner gathering at the Singer household because he hoped that he would have an announcement to make.

If he were completely honest, Sam would have to admit that he had hoped the announcement would relate to him. There was a part of him that felt ridiculous about having such dreams. He and Dean lived in such different worlds.

But, Dean had made Winchester Hall sound like it would be an oasis for them. It seemed as though it would be a place so far removed from regular society that they could create their own world.

And Sam had found that his feelings for Dean only increased with every moment they spent together. He might not have much practical experience in matters of the heart but he was sure he could see affection in Dean’s gaze.

So, of course, Sam had agreed to a dinner party. Asking Bobby was a formality. Admittedly, Bobby had seemed reluctant but Sam was willing to believe that was more to do with over-protectiveness.

The dinner was almost ready. The guests had arrived. Sam had invited Cas, and of course, Rowena and Jessica. Sir John would be there; he was seldom far away from Dean’s side. The rest of the places at the table were filled with friends of Bobby.

When Dean had arrived, he had looked a little anxious; his cheeks were flushed and his hair was a bit more tousled than usual. There was an excited glint in his eyes and Sam felt a little thrill. They embraced briefly and then Dean smiled.

“It’s nice to see you, Sam,” Dean said softly. “I missed you today.”

Sam smoothed his hand down the lapel of Dean’s tail coat. “I missed our walk.” It was true. Sam had become accustomed to their afternoon strolls in the park. The moments they could speak without John lingering near them were few and far between, but Sam cherished them.

Dean glanced over at his father and John nodded a curt greeting at Sam before heading down the hall to join the other guests in the dining room.

“Is everything alright, Dean?” Sam was a little taken aback to be left alone with Dean so abruptly. 

Furrows appeared in Dean’s brow briefly and then his smile brightened. “Yes. Yes. Everything’s fine. I just. You see, I wanted to ask you something.”

The beat of Sam’s heart seemed to skip around in his ribcage and he tried to swallow the excitement he could feel flooding through him.

There was a sound behind them and Sam glanced over his shoulder to see Rowena coming back down the hall. Even though the clicking of her shoes announced her presence, she cleared her throat pointedly and raised an eyebrow. “Sam, if you can tear yourself away from the charming _Baronet_ , could you possibly seek out your Uncle so we can be seated?”

It made sense that Rowena would interrupt when Sam and Dean finally had a moment alone.

Sam nodded and turned back to Dean quickly. “Just let me fetch my Uncle and then you’ll have my undivided attention.”

“But, Sam, this is rather important and -” Dean was looking concerned again and Sam reached out and squeezed Dean’s hand.

“I promise; just a moment.” Sam turned on his heel, brushed past Rowena and went to the door of his Uncle’s study.

Bobby was at his old oak desk with some papers spread out in front of him. _Always working_.

“Bobby?” Sam peered into the study; his uncle’s sacred space.

Bobby looked up immediately as though Sam had startled him from his thoughts. “Yes. Dinner. I’m sure our guests are getting restless.” Bobby slid the yellow-edged papers back into a large envelope and walked over to Sam.

As they moved back into the hall, Dean was waiting there still. He looked as though he was about to speak then Bobby raised his hand to silence him.

“Dean?” Bobby said evenly. “Would you be so kind as to join me in my study for a few moments before dinner?” Bobby’s tone made it clear that it wasn’t a request.

Dean nodded.

Bobby’s hand settled on Sam’s shoulder. “Could you fetch Sir John as well? We’ll join you all shortly.”

Resisting the urge to question his Uncle, Sam nodded and left to retrieve Dean’s father. His curiosity was certainly piqued. Sadly, it had also prompted him to wonder if Dean’s announcement would have to do with business rather than his relationship with Sam.

“Sir John? My Uncle would like to speak with you in his study for a few moments.” Sam smiled.

But the look on John’s face was far from pleased. He squared his shoulders and raised his eyebrows as though he found it an imposition to be ordered about.

After an uncomfortable amount of time, John nodded almost imperceptibly and pushed past Sam.

The evening wasn't going quite how Sam had planned it.

~~~~~~~

Bobby closed the study door as soon as both Winchesters were in the room. There was only one light on in the room and it was on the corner of Bobby’s desk. It cast a close circle of light around everyone.

“Dean, I’m sure when you and I first met, you were aware of how much I disliked you.”

John rolled his eyes but Dean stepped forward. “Your dislike was quite clear, Sir. But, there’s something I need to say to you about Sam. You see, I’ve-”

“Fallen in love.” Bobby sighed and leaned back against his desk. “I know, Dean.” Bobby had been prepared for the Winchesters to deny everything but he was surprised by Dean’s ability to look so _genuine_.

There was a frantic look to Dean’s expression and he pressed his hand over his heart. “Sir, I came here for another reason but I’ve found myself quite attached to Sam. I was surprised to find I -”

“Fell in love,” Bobby finished again. “You’re repeating yourself. But, you see, there’s a problem.”

Dean looked over at his father but stayed silent.

“At first, I wasn’t sure what it was about you that I didn’t like. I didn't have any proof of anything, nor did I have a reason to keep you from my nephew.”

Dean stepped forward again. “Sir, please-”

“I have a very curious and persistent colleague named Rufus and he found _this_ for me.” Bobby held out one of the papers that had been sent to him earlier.

When Dean glanced down at the paper, his face drained of color.

“Now, Dean,” Bobby said with a wry smile on his face. “That seems like a _very_ honest reaction. Surprised?” Bobby turned and picked up a ledger with cheques in it. He pondered the appropriate amount for a few seconds and then wrote out a cheque to John Winchester.

“Does Sam know about this?” The paper was trembling along with Dean’s hand as he held out the document.

“No, he doesn’t,” Bobby said as he pulled the cheque free. “And he won’t if you take this and agree to my conditions.” Bobby met John’s gaze and held out the cheque. “John? You seem to be the more sensible part of this duo.”

John sighed and looked down at the cheque before looking back at Bobby. He took the cheque slowly and examined it. “We understand. What are your conditions?”

Dean’s gaze snapped towards his father and he looked like he was going to protest. John raised his hand slightly and Dean stayed silent.

The burn of satisfaction was beginning to warm Bobby’s chest. He had been Sam’s protector for a very long time and he took the role seriously. “If you want that money in your account you will _both_ leave on the first train tomorrow morning. It leaves the station at 7:45. Be on it.”

Dean tried to step forward but John held out his arm to stop his son.

“What’s the second condition?” John asked.

“That is all up to _you_ , Dean. I’ve seen how my nephew looks at you. Tonight? You will break his heart. Completely. Do you understand me?”

A muscle in Dean’s jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth. “Yes.”

“Good,” Bobby said. He clapped his hands together. Naturally, he was a little saddened by the prospect of what was to come for Sam, but it was the correct choice without a doubt. “Shall we adjourn to dinner?”

John tucked the check into the watch pocket on his vest and buttoned up his jacket. “Certainly,” he said coldly.

~~~~~~~


	2. Chapter 2

Dinner felt a little strange to Sam. There was a heavy tension in the room that Sam was unaccustomed to. Dean was seated across the table and even though occasionally their eyes would meet there was none of the usual familiarity. Sometimes, Dean looked as though he was a little frustrated and at other times his expression was difficult to read. He was quieter than usual, as though he was lost in thought.

While Sam tried to follow the conversation, he found that he was a bit distracted. His mind kept wandering back to what Dean had wanted to ask him but there was nothing to do but wait until dinner was finished.

Finally, the plates were cleared away and the last of the blood red wine was poured into tall glasses.

“If I may?” Dean directed his question to Bobby where he sat at the head of the table.

Bobby nodded.

When Dean stood, he smoothed his hands down the front of his vest. “When my father and I first came to Buffalo we knew no one. Such a short time later, we find ourselves in a room full of friends.” Dean’s eyes lingered on Sam for a few moments and he smiled slightly.

“But for now, my father and I must take our leave of you,” Dean said smoothly.

For Sam, the moment made him feel as though his lungs had collapsed in on themselves. When he tried to draw in a breath, his chest ached like it was in a vice.

Dean set his wine down on the table and clasped his hands together. “Autumn is approaching quickly, and we must begin our journey home to attend to Winchester Hall. Thank you for your friendship and all the hospitality that has been offered us. I hope that we may meet again in the future, perhaps at _our_ home.”

 _Leaving to attend to Winchester Hall_. Sam finally managed to suck a breath of air in past the tightness in his throat. He pushed his chair back, set his napkin down and stood. “If you will excuse me. I’m sorry,” he said in the steadiest voice he could manage.

When Sam stepped back, Cas reached for him but Bobby held up his hand for the young doctor to let Sam go.

Sam felt as though _everyone_ knew what had been coming except for him. He was certain he could feel knowing eyes on his back as he left. He could even hear Rowena’s laughter and it made him feel sick to his stomach.

By the time Sam reached the first landing on the stairs he could hear footsteps behind him.

“Sam, wait,” Dean called out.

Sam swallowed a knot of sadness and turned to face Dean. “Yes?”

There was a hard edge to Dean’s expression that Sam had never seen before. The blood in his veins began to slow until he was sure it would stop flowing if Dean didn’t look away from him.

“I’m sorry to announce this at dinner but there’s no longer any reason for us to stay here.”

“No reason. I see.” Unable to believe what he was hearing, that he’d been so wrong, Sam turned to head up the stairs. All he could think about was retreating to his room.

“Don’t you want to hear what I thought about your most recent work of fiction?” Dean asked abruptly.

“No,” Sam murmured. He could feel tears threatening and just wanted to put as much distance between them as possible.

“I’m afraid I must insist as I’ll be leaving in the morning and won’t have time to leave any annotations.” Dean’s voice had grown louder and Sam took a deep breath to steel himself for what might be coming.

“Fine,” Sam said. “As you wish.” As steadily as he could manage, he turned to face Dean where he stood at the bottom of the stairs.

“It’s quite boring,” Dean began as he climbed a couple of steps. “It’s very clear from the story that you have little or no ability to write fiction.”

The pain in Sam’s ribcage was radiating out into his arms so he folded them tightly across his chest. He wished the stairs would just open up and swallow him whole.

“And the saddest things is that it’s a romance. And fiction is _exactly_ what your writing is. This romance you’ve written is utterly ridiculous. You don’t know a thing about love. You don't know how painful it can be, how it can absolutely devour you from the inside out.”

As Sam stared at Dean the foyer seemed to become smaller and smaller. It was as though there wasn’t enough air to keep Sam alive.

“Stop it, Dean.” Sam couldn’t take another moment of standing there and listening to what Dean was saying.

“Sam, you’re too young to know anything about the monstrosity that love can become and the things that it can make you do.” Dean finally took a breath then stepped right into Sam’s space. “What do you dream about, Sam? Do you dream about someone like me? Do you want a strong man, someone who will be _there_ for you or someone who needs you? You’re too young to know anything about something as extraordinary as love. You’re just a spoiled child.”

“Enough!” Sam yelled as his hands connected _hard_ with Dean’s chest. The Baronet stumbled back and slipped off the top step then caught himself before he fell.

As the walls around Sam began to return to normal he tried to get a deep breath of air. There was really nothing else to be said. He glanced down at the crowd of people who had appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

Cas moved to step forward again and Bobby grabbed his arm.

Sam took advantage of the moment to retreat as fast as he could up the stairs.

~~~~~~~

A knock on Sam’s bedroom door woke him in the bright, morning light. He’d fallen asleep in his shirt and trousers and felt about as uncomfortable as he possibly could upon waking. Sadly, the previous evening’s events came rushing back to him as soon as he opened his eyes.

The door creaked open and Sam recognized Lisa’s light footfall. 

“Good morning, Sam. The Baronet dropped off your story early this morning. I didn’t want to wake you.” Even poor Lisa knew that Sam had had a rough evening. There was probably not a soul in Buffalo who wouldn’t hear about it shortly; Rowena would make certain of that.

“It’s fine, just leave it on the desk. Thank you, Lisa.”

“The letter too?” Lisa asked.

Sam’s heart skipped a beat and he tried to stay still. “Yes, the letter too.” 

Lisa closed the door quietly behind her and Sam sat up so quickly his head spun. He swept his sleep-tousled hair back out of his eyes, scratched his chest and stared over at the pile of papers that was on the desk. He couldn’t imagine what Dean might have to say to him; it didn’t feel like there was much left _to_ say.

When the room stopped spinning, Sam stood and headed over the to the desk. He untied the string that bound the papers and picked up the letter. The paper was smooth against his palms as he unfolded it.

_My dear Sam,_

_By the time you receive this letter I will be gone. Your Uncle made it very clear to me that in my current economic position, I have no right to want to share my life with you. I agree with him._

_Your Uncle also asked me to break your heart and to take responsibility for my decision to leave. I fear that, by now, I have done both and the damage may be irreparable._

_But, Sam, I need you to know that as soon as I’m able to make our mine a success I will return for you if you’ll have me. Surely, if I return successful then your Uncle will be more willing to accept me as your suitor._

_Please forgive me, Sam. I shall never forgive myself for causing you such pain._

_Yours,  
Dean_

Sam threw the letter down onto the desk and looked around the room frantically for his coat. He fumbled with the buttons on his shirt then gave up after he managed to get it fastened to the middle of his chest. There was no sign of his coat

“Lisa! I need my coat!” he called out.

~~~~~~~

He’d walked to Dean’s hotel several times with him so he knew exactly where the Winchesters were staying. The different was that he didn’t take his normal, casual pace; he ran. The streets were already getting busy and Sam had to weave between people to get along the boardwalk. By the time he reached the front doors of the hotel, he was a little out of breath.

There was a gentleman staffing the reception desk and Sam skidded to a halt in front of him. “Dean and John Winchester, please.”

When the man looked up, he pushed his glasses back up his nose. “Rooms 100 and 101 but-”

“- Thank you.” Sam bolted down the hallway, even though the man behind the desk called out to him. He wasn’t about to stop.

“Dean?” Sam queried as he rounded the corner towards the first set of doors. “Dean?”

When Sam hurried into the room he startled two maids who were making the bed.

“I’m sorry, Sir. The Winchesters checked out this morning in time to catch the early train,” said one of the maids.

Sam closed his eyes for a few moments and sighed. He was too late; he should have known.

“Are you alright, Sir?” The maids were still standing at the sides of the bed holding pillows as though they didn’t know what to do.

“Yes,” Sam answered quickly. “Sorry. I’m fine.” Realizing he was still standing in the doorway, Sam turned and headed back out into the corridor. He slid both hands into his hair and tried to smooth it down a little. _Too late_. Why had Bobby _ever_ thought he should interfere? It was unlike his Uncle to make such quick judgments about people.

“Sam.”

The voice sent shivers down Sam’s spine. He looked up to see Dean standing at the end of the hallway. 

Sam was frozen to the spot. All his emotions were knotted up in his chest and he was afraid to believe what he thought he might be seeing.

“My father left on the train this morning. But I couldn’t leave.” Dean walked closer and stopped a few feet from Sam.

Sam wetted his lips but couldn’t manage to get any words past them. He’d been through every possible emotion since he’d left the house, and he still had no idea what to think. The harshest words had passed Dean’s lips the night before and the sharp bite of them still lingered in Sam’s mind.

“Your Uncle bribed me to leave, Sam. But when it came down to it, I just couldn’t bring myself to leave you.” Dean’s eyes were glassy and bright; he looked as though emotion had gotten the better of him. He took a few more steps and stopped when he was inches from Sam.

Sam’s fists were clenched at his sides, his heart was pounding and there was a dull throbbing in his head. Everything in his being hoped that Dean had stayed for him, that the man he’d grown to care so much about had been real.

Dean leaned in closer and his fingers brushed Sam’s gently. “Every step I took away from you was painful. It was like having a piece of my soul torn free.” Dean glanced down as though he was ashamed of his own words.

All Sam could do was stand there and stare. He’d thought he would never see Dean again and yet, there he was. His fingers felt hot against the back of Sam’s hand.

“I suppose,” Dean said gruffly. “You would have just forgotten me and moved on with your life.” His long lashes fell to his cheeks.

Sam’s heart was racing and the sadness on Dean’s downturned face finally loosened his voice. “I could _never_ forget you, Dean.”

When Dean looked up there was just the _hint_ of a smile on his face. It was almost as though he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

All too familiar with uncertainty, Sam leaned in and pressed his lips to Dean’s. Instantly, heat cascaded down Sam’s body and his lips parted to let a small sigh escape.

Dean leaned into the kiss before Sam could pull away. It was gentle at first, Dean’s kisses were so soft they were ghostlike and Sam felt his entire body begin to tremble.

Just when Sam needed it the most, he felt Dean’s hands sliding under his jacket. His palms were hot over Sam’s shirt and their bodies pressed closer together.

Their mouths met again and again. Sam’s lips were alive with sensation. Dean’s lips were soft and full and Sam closed his eyes and let the sensation wash him away. He’d never felt anything like it and he never wanted it to end. _Never_.

When Dean withdrew slightly, he just peered into Sam’s eyes.

For Sam, the entire world had disappeared. As Dean pulled away though, the buzz of the hotel returned. Heat danced across Sam’s cheeks but he didn’t want to let go of Dean; he didn’t care what people were saying.

Dean slipped his fingers across Sam’s palm so he could take his hand. He tugged gently and pulled Sam back towards the front door of the Hotel. 

The smile on Sam’s face was almost painful. It was making his cheeks hurt.

~~~~~~~

Sam felt no need to say anything as he walked hand in hand with Dean through the lobby. In spite of the few glances that passed their way, Sam felt as though the world had righted itself again. It was like being about to float, rather than walk, and that more than made up for all the hurtful things that Dean had said to him.

As they walked back through the Lobby, Sam found himself staring at Dean. It suddenly seemed as though it were acceptable for him to study the Baronet’s face. He’d always felt as though John had frowned upon their closeness. Now that they were alone, everything felt much more comfortable and the sensation was freeing.

When Dean stopped in his tracks, Sam stumbled slightly. He frowned over a smile, then turned to look ahead to see what impeded their path.

First, Sam saw Lisa. Her cheeks were ruddy and wet with tears. She was holding a handkerchief to her mouth and sobbed quietly when she met Sam’s gaze.

Sam’s blood ran cold and he gripped Dean’s hand tightly.

Carver Edlund was standing at Lisa’s side, her arm looped through his. Carver had been Bobby’s lawyer and confidant for a long as Sam could remember. Sam had never seen the man look so despondent.

Dean slipped his arm protectively around Sam’s waist and held on.

Carver took a deep breath and walked closer to Sam. His hands were clasped together so tightly that his knuckles were whitening. “Sam, I’m _so_ sorry. I have some very bad news. It’s Bobby.”

~~~~~~~

Everything in Sam’s life changed in a single moment. Never before would he have even thought that so much upheaval was possible.

When Carver had said the words, _Bobby is dead_ , Sam hadn’t been able to feel anything. His body had gone completely numb. His mind was full of confident disbelief; this couldn’t have happened to Bobby. Bobby couldn’t be gone.

But Bobby _was_ gone.

With Dean at his side, Sam was led by Carver to a back room in the hospital. Cas was standing at Carver’s side with his hands clasped in front of him. He shook his head sadly when he made eye contact with his old friend.

There were long tables in the room and a bare, concrete floor that was glistening as though it had been washed recently. On one of the tables, there was a white sheet covering the shape of a body. Sam’s step faltered; he wasn’t sure he was prepared to identify his Uncle’s body. But Carver had assured him it was a legality that must be adhered to.

The table was miles away. Each step towards the white sheet was more difficult than the one before it and Sam felt Dean propelling him forward gently until he was finally at his Uncle’s side.

When the sheet was pulled back to reveal Bobby’s shoulders and head, Sam’s tears had begun in earnest. He would _never_ be able to lose the image of Bobby in death.

Half of Bobby’s face was obscured by blood and a huge hole that began at his forehead ended near his cheek. Sam heard occasional words that were coming from Carver, and from Cas. Bobby had been at the baths and he had fallen. Cas didn’t seem convinced that Bobby had an accident. But it was all entirely too overwhelming for Sam. He found he couldn’t bear to see his Uncle laid out, poked and prodded. He replaced the white sheet over Bobby’s face, almost as though he were tucking him into bed. All Sam managed to say was, “He’s so cold.”

He had turned away to find himself in the security and strength of Dean’s embrace. It was the only safe place left for Sam in a world that felt very hostile.

~~~~~~~

Time passed without Sam being aware of it and he was in Dean’s arms again as he faced another funeral. Another glistening, black, coffin was carried past Sam. He turned away and leaned against Dean’s chest with his hand pressed against Dean’s lapel and over his heart.   
The Winchester family heirloom, a beautiful gold band with a blood red ruby in the center was heavy on Sam’s ring finger.

The two men had been married a week after Bobby’s death in a simple ceremony. No one had protested the civil union. There was no precedent for the marriage to be turned down and Sam suspected that Carver did his part to make the event go smoothly. After all, Sam and Dean wouldn’t be living in Buffalo. Who would protest?

The ceremony was a small affair; Sam had no other family left alive and John had remained at Winchester Hall. Cas wasn’t present and Sam wondered briefly if it were because of his feelings. But he had neither the will nor the heart to seek out his old friend.

It took a seemingly endless number of meetings to begin to pull apart Bobby’s finances. Sam wanted to sell the company to the members of the board and leave them with complete ownership of it. He put his full trust in Carver to oversee the process.

Sam stayed at the house that he had called home for years while they waited for the finances to be sorted. Sam hadn’t moved from his bedroom; it was where he had slept every night since he had moved into the house. Dean had taken a room at the Hotel, not wanting to give people another reason to gossip about the two of them; it was probably a wise choice.

And so, Sam was a married man, with tears in his eyes, watching the second funeral in his young life.

No one else gave Sam the feeling of security that Dean did. Those strong arms were always there for him. It made the sadness bearable and gave Sam a reason to believe that there would be a brighter future, that there might be a time when breathing no longer hurt. Dean was the one saving grace while the world felt like it was collapsing around Sam. Without Dean, Sam wasn’t sure what would have become of him.

There was no reason for Sam to stay in Buffalo any longer. He and Dean would leave for Winchester Hall the day after the funeral. 

The beginning of Sam’s new life.

~~~~~~~

The trip to Winchester Hall took a very long time. There were moments when Sam wasn’t even certain where they were anymore. He’d never traveled away from Buffalo and found that things changed dramatically as soon as they left the city limits. The landscape became a bit stark; the further they got from Buffalo, the more autumn seemed to have taken hold and the less green there was on the trees.

Days passed. There were hours in carriages, there were evenings in carriage houses and roadside inns. Sometimes, Sam would lay awake for hours and stare at the ceiling thinking about how different it was from the one in his old bedroom. He ate little, drank less and tried to forget about all the sadness they left behind in their wake.

 

The final part of their journey was a carriage ride that went on for what felt like years. The countryside had changed abruptly and Sam spent most of his time staring at it. Where there were once trees, there was a sea of brown grass. The rocks and hills had taken on a darker color that seemed to soak up what little sunlight there was.

The carriage bumped over the dirt roads for hour upon hour. Sam could feel the dust adhering to his skin and wiped at it occasionally with his handkerchief.

Sam was quiet. His entire life had changed so quickly that he was still trying to keep his footing. After the funeral, Dean had enlisted the help of Carver to begin the transfer of Sam’s assets. That had been difficult. For Sam, it signified the complete end of one part of his life.

As he watched the trees go by, Sam couldn’t imagine what this _new_ life would have in store for him.

The autumn wind felt pleasant on his face. The warm strength of Dean’s body beside him was comforting.

Occasionally, Dean would point out a landmark, share a memory, or pass on a brief anecdote. But Dean seemed to realize that Sam was lost in his thoughts.

They stopped briefly at the town nearest to Winchester Hall so that Dean could pick up some parts that had arrived for his clay extractor.

The men at the depot all knew Dean and seemed pleased to see him. The place was bustling with people and horses. Sam lingered near the entrance to the stables because he had always loved horses. He’d loved them since he was a little boy. There was something very soothing about the feel of the horse’s coarse mane running through his fingers.

When Dean was finished in the depot he came to find Sam. “Beautiful, aren’t they?”

Sam nodded. When he felt Dean’s arms slide around his waist he leaned back slightly. 

“We’re almost home, Sam.”

_Home._

Sam had felt adrift since Bobby’s funeral. It was as though there was nothing left to hold Sam on the earth. Nothing that is, but the strength of Dean’s arms.

They climbed back into the carriage for the last time to continue their journey. Dean unfolded a blanket and placed it over their laps before slipping his arm over Sam’s shoulders.

It felt good and right in spite of all the pain and loss that trailed along behind Sam.

The time passed quickly and soon they were speeding under an enormous, wrought iron gate. _Winchester Hall_ was written on an iron arch across the entrance.

When Sam saw the Hall he let out a gasp. It was far bigger than he had expected. From what he could see, the Hall had four or five floors. The windows on the main floor were stained glass. The Hall itself was brick - a dark red color. It could have been made from the very bricks that were once manufactured with the clay from the Winchester mines. The doors were cut from heavy wood and were covered in intricate designs.

After all the hours of driving, Winchester Hall _should_ have seemed like home. The reality was that Dean’s home looked imposing and cold.

The closer the carriage rattled up the long road to the Hall, the larger the building looked. Sam sat up slightly and cast his gaze around. There were strange towers scattered around the vast property and Sam assumed they must have to do with the clay mining.

“Welcome to Winchester Hall, Sam.” Dean’s voice was quite near Sam’s ear and then his lips pressed a gentle kiss to Sam’s cheek.

Sam smiled and reached for Dean’s hand. The Winchesters were his family now that Bobby was gone. As different as everything was, it felt like it was time for Sam to put some energy into being more cheerful. Dean had, after all, welcomed Sam into his life with open arms.

“It’s amazing,” Sam murmured.

“Impressive from out here, to be sure,” Dean agreed. “Sadly, much of the house has fallen into disrepair over the years. We simply don’t have the resources…”

As Dean’s voice trailed away to silence, Sam found his mind still lingered on the word _house_. Winchester Hall was far more than what Sam would consider a house. “How many rooms are there?”

Dean chuckled softly. “I have no idea, but we could count them if you like.”

The carriage pulled to a rolling stop in front of the Hall and Dean jumped down. “Come inside, Sam. And Gabriel?”

The driver climbed down out of the carriage and began to unload it. “Yes, Master Dean?”

“Can you get everything inside while I get Sam settled?” Dean grinned and held out his hand towards his husband.

Sam let himself be tugged through the huge wooden doors. A breeze followed them inside and dust swirled up from the carpet in a small whirlwind.

The inside of the Hall was one of the most beautiful and sad things that Sam had ever seen.

The first thing he was able to absorb was the immense size of Winchester Hall. As far as Sam could see there were stairs winding their way up and around to all the floors. But the most epic feature was a huge hole in the distant ceiling. There were boards and shingles jutting in from the edges and the occasional leaf fluttered down from above.

When Dean saw where Sam was looking, he walked over to stand beside him. “I know; it’s a disgrace. We can’t keep up with it.”

Sam looked over at Dean to find his new husband staring forlornly up at the dilapidated roof.

“It’s the clay,” Dean murmured almost as though he was speaking to himself.

“The clay?”

Dean took a few steps forward and pushed on the hardwood floor with his boot. A thick, red, liquid oozed up between the boards. “The clay is so abundant that the house is, basically, sinking. That’s why it sounds like this.” Dean gestured to the general area around them.

Focusing on the sounds he could hear, Sam felt a little shiver run through him. Dean was right. There was a constant creaking and ticking as though the house was stretching itself up towards the sky then relaxing back down onto its foundations.

“Master Dean? Does this trunk go to your workshop?” asked Gabriel as he tugged on a huge leather trunk.

“Oh! Let me help with that, Gabriel. I’ll be right back, Sam.” Dean headed over to help with the trunk.

Sam heard Dean say something about the attic again as he picked up one side of the trunk.

The house creaked loudly and Sam turned towards the sound. There was a huge old mirror on the far wall and Sam could see his reflection. He looked terrible. Of course, he’d been wearing the same suit for a couple of days, but his hair was windblown and there was a thin layer of dust smeared on his face and neck.

He headed closer to the mirror and smoothed his hands over his hair a few times. It didn’t make much of an improvement. There was a movement over Sam’s left shoulder and he spun quickly. He was sure that he had seen a woman disappearing down one of the many corridors that led away from the main foyer.

“Hello?” Sam frowned and headed off in the direction of the shadowy figure. The creaking sound intensified and Sam felt a cold breeze tousle his hair. “Hello? Is there someone there?”

Footsteps sounded in the distance and Sam moved a little faster. Something clanged heavily and Sam was sure he could hear some kind of machinery grinding away. He rounded another corner and came upon an elevator.

It was a huge iron box with a heavy door and the car was slowly disappearing down below. Sam peered down the shaft, certain he could see someone in the murky darkness below. He thought that there was a swirl of black material. The train of a dress, perhaps?

“Sam, what on earth-”

Sam jumped and hit his shoulder against the heavy metal. “Dean, there was someone there. I thought I saw a woman.” 

“A woman?” Dean lifted his eyebrows and patted his hand on the elevator door. “This old thing has a mind of its own.”

Sam shivered and pulled his suit jacket closer around him. “There was someone there, Dean.”

“Sam, trust me. There’s no one down there. It’s this place. It’s going to take a while for you to get used to the sounds.” Dean leaned in and pressed a kiss to Sam’s lips. “Promise me you won't go down into the mines. It’s far too dangerous.”

Sam nodded and twined his fingers through Dean’s.

“Come on, let’s go and find my father.”

~~~~~~~

“You look quite pale, Sam. Are you well?” John Winchester seemed even more intimidating in casual dress. He was wearing black slim-fitting trousers and a loose white shirt that was unbuttoned to reveal a scattering of black chest hair. He was tall; although not quite as tall as Dean, but his dark hair and beard made him seem much more substantial. For once, there was a slight smile on John’s face though.

Dean pulled Sam further into the kitchen. There was a huge iron stove behind John with a fire blazing deep in its bowels. A spicy smell filled the kitchen and Sam took a deep breath.

“Sam’s just had a bit of a fright. He’ll get used to the house with time,” Dean said brightly.

“Of course you will, Sam. You’ll find this place seems alive at times.” John’s smile disappeared and he straightened his shirt.

Sam returned the smile and took another deep breath. He walked over to John and wrapped his arms around him. For a few moments, John was stiff and then he patted Sam’s shoulder and set him back slowly.

Sam smiled in spite of the brevity of the embrace. “Thank you for welcoming me to your home, John. I hope we can get to know one another better now … now we’re family.”

The expression on John’s face wavered slightly and he nodded curtly.

The newlyweds turned and were just about to leave the kitchen when Sam thought about the house again. “John? Can I have a set of keys when it’s convenient?”

“No,” John said quickly.

Sam blinked and glanced over at Dean but it was difficult to read his expression.

John took a deep breath and tilted his head slightly. “There are a lot of places in the Hall that are dangerous. Give yourself some time to get acquainted. After that, if you still want them, we can see about it.”

It seemed a reasonable enough answer and Sam supposed he may have overstepped. He had, after all, just arrived.

“I’ll make some tea for us all. Dean, Sam’s frozen. Take him upstairs.”

“Of course,” Dean said quickly. “I’m sorry, Sam. Come with me. We’ll get you settled and I’ll run you a bath.” He grasped Sam’s hand and pulled him back out of the kitchen. “The water runs red at first, because of the clay, but it clears quickly.”

 _Red._ The clay was everywhere.

Sam sighed and followed his husband. 

For better or for worse, he was _home_.

~~~~~~~

Dean ran the water in the huge washroom off the bedroom they would share. Dean hadn’t been exaggerating; the water that gushed from the faucet was blood red at first. Slowly, it cleared and, as the copper pipes clanged, the water began to stream hot and fast.

Sam _was_ cold. John was correct. The carriage ride had been cool but the _house_ was even colder. In fact, as Sam waited for the huge, claw-footed tub to fill, he shivered a little.

Dean excused himself to take care of some unpacking in his workshop and then Sam was alone.

He peeled off his suit and climbed into the hot water. Almost immediately, Sam could feel his muscles beginning to relax. As he leaned back against the warmed porcelain, Sam looked around the huge room.

There were elaborate Turkish carpets scattered on the floor; a luxury, to be sure. The walls were dark wood and though some parts of it were worn, it seemed a comfortable room.

Very slowly, Sam could feel his body beginning to thaw. It felt like he was warm for the first time since he’d left Buffalo. It wasn’t until he’d left home that Sam had realized how comfortable a life he had led.

There was a fire already roaring away in the enormous fireplace in the bedroom but the air still felt cool in the washroom.

Sam slid down slowly until the warm water crept up over his face. He scrubbed away the dirt from the trip and blew out a breath under water. He watched as his breath bubbled up to the light of the candles flickering in the room.

A shadow darkened the surface of the water and Sam burst up out of it choking. When he managed to wipe the water from his eyes he looked around the room. There was no one there.

Panting softly, Sam continued to look around. _No one_. But he could hear footsteps. It seemed as though the steps were in the room but Sam was absolutely alone.

“Dean? Is that you?”

There was no answer, but Sam turned and leaned on the side of the bath because he thought he could hear whispering. Fear slithered down his arms and left gooseflesh in its wake.

The whispering grew a bit louder and Sam scrambled out of the tub and grabbed the robe Dean had left him. He slipped his arms into it and wrapped it close to his body. “Hello?”

Everything had gone quiet again when Sam stopped moving save for the water dripping from his body and the creaking of the house. It was beginning to feel as though Sam was going insane.

The door handle rattled and Sam jumped. It was Dean. There was no one else there. Sam was just imagining things because he was exhausted and in unfamiliar surroundings.

The click of the door handle made Sam take a step backward so quickly that he bumped into the side of the tub.

The door creaked open in an agonizingly slow swing and Sam clenched his hands into fists and closed his eyes.

_There was no one there._

Footsteps echoed in the washroom again and Sam squeezed his eyes shut even tighter. He began to shiver once more as the air around him seemed to grow even colder.

“Help.” The word was no more than a whisper but Sam felt it everywhere on his body. His eyes shot open and all he could see was a cloud of black, wisps of smoke. He swiped at the cloud around him as he stumbled sideways.

“Sam?” 

Dean’s voice seemed to break the spell and instantly, the room was completely normal.

“Are you alright, Sam?” Dean looked concerned as he strode towards his husband.

For a few heartbeats, Sam couldn’t find his voice and he just nodded. He was certainly relieved to see Dean and not some strange apparition.

“Come and sit by the fire with me,” Dean said softly. He slipped his hand into Sam’s and urged him into motion.

Once he was moving, Sam began to feel a little better. Or maybe it was having Dean beside him. He padded along behind his husband and resisted the urge to look over his shoulder as they left the washroom.

The crackling of the fire was one of the most inviting sounds that Sam had ever heard.

“John brought up the tea for you. And there are some pastries if you’re hungry. Put something warm on.”

Sam headed over to the trunk that had been brought up to the room shortly after they had arrived. He pulled out some trousers and a warm shirt. “Did you get your workshop sorted?”

“Yes. Everything is moved in and I can start working tomorrow.” Dean poked at the fire then added another piece of wood. “You must be tired.”

They’d been together a short enough time that Sam still felt a little uncomfortable undressing in front of Dean. It seemed strange to be so close to someone and yet, know so little about them. Their time together had been condensed somehow by all of the tragedy that seemed to surround them.

The trousers were soft against Sam’s skin and he pulled them on quickly so he could hang the robe on the coat rack beside the door. He slipped his arms into his shirt and tugged it closed, opting to leave it unbuttoned.

Sam padded over nearer the fire and settled in a huge green wingback chair then picked up a cup from the tray on the table. He sniffed it and his nose wrinkled slightly. It had a strange, earthy smell. When Sam tasted it, he swallowed it quickly. Even though he could taste sugar in it, the overall flavor was bitter and Sam didn’t recognize it.

Dean must have noticed the expression on Sam’s face. “It’s bitter, I know. John makes it from the berries that grow here. I think everything that thrives here has to have a bitter strength to it.” Dean took a knee by the fire and slid another log into the depths of the flames.

Sam set the tea down and looked over at Dean. He looked sad, somehow, and almost as though he felt lonely. “Dean? I’m glad to be here with you.”

A smiled slipped onto Dean’s lips as he prodded the fire with a wrought iron poker.

The flames flickered and there was a howling wheeze that filled the entire room and rattled the windows.

Sam slid out of the chair and crouched down at Dean’s side.

The flames calmed again and Dean slipped his arm over Sam’s shoulders. “Don’t be afraid. It’s just the sound of the wind. Sometimes, when the wind comes from the North, it creates a vacuum and, well, it sounds like the house is breathing.”

“Alive,” Sam murmured as he leaned back into Dean’s embrace. The explanation didn't change how frightening the sound was. Like great lungs heaving in a huge breath of air, the wheezing happened once more and then the house fell silent before settling back into its normal creaks and groans.

“I suppose it is, in a way,” Dean murmured.

“Old houses must have many memories in them,” Sam said quietly. It seemed important to be quiet now that the house was _sleeping_.

“Memories.” Dean moved to sit on the edge of the large, stone fireplace and pulled Sam into the V of his legs.

“I suppose,” Sam began. “I’ve always felt that places like this must … _collect_ memories and spirits.” Sam settled back comfortably against Dean.

Dean circled his arms around Sam and rested his chin on Sam’s shoulder. “Are you thinking about your ghosts again?”

There was no malice in the teasing tone of Dean’s voice. Still, Sam found that he felt slightly protective of his ideas and beliefs. He’d never dared to speak to anyone about the strange apparitions he’d been visited by and he wasn’t sure if he ever would.

“Why do you believe in ghosts?” Sam finally asked.

There were a few moments of silence and then Dean sighed. “I think there is both good and evil in the world. I also think that there are some things that must leave a _mark_ on the world.” Dean fell silent again.

Sam shifted slightly so he could study Dean’s expression. “What kinds of things?”

After a deep breath, Dean sat back slightly and slid his hands back to Sam’s shoulders. “There are some people that are capable of-”

The bedroom door banged against the wall and Sam pulled his shirt closer around him when he looked up and saw John filling the doorway. “I brought some extra quilts. It’s cold this evening and we don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, Sam.”

Dean stood quickly and stepped out from behind Sam. He slid his hands into his trouser pockets and dropped his gaze. “Thank you, Father.”

John’s gaze was cold and Sam felt the weight of it. He climbed to his feet and made sure his shirt front was closed. The expression on John’s face wasn’t easy to interpret but Sam felt like he was a butterfly pinned to a collector’s board.

“Are you settling in, Sam?” John’s deep voice seemed too loud and invasive in the previously comfortable room.

“Sam’s just tired,” Dean offered.

Finally, John’s gaze moved to his son. “I’m sure that Sam can answer for himself, Dean.”

The tension between John and his son crackled and Sam didn't like it at all. He headed over to John and took the folded quilts so he could set them on the bed. “Thank you, John. I’m very comfortable here. Dean’s been very sweet.”

The smile on John’s face stopped short of his eyes. “I’m sure he has,” John said slowly and deliberately.

Silence lingered in the room for an uncomfortable amount of time and finally Dean took a few steps towards his father. “Thank you for thinking of Sam. Goodnight, Father.”

John’s expression hardened and then he glanced over at Sam. He nodded and turned on his heel and disappeared into the darkness.

Relief trickled down over Sam and he watched as Dean strode towards the door to close it quickly. He was smiling when he turned back to face Sam but he looked a little unsettled. “I’m going to have a bath. If you’re asleep when I come to bed, I won’t wake you.”

Sam nodded and sat down on the side of the huge four poster bed. Dean walked over to where Sam was sitting and smoothed hair back from his face. “Alright?”

Not wanting to concern Dean, Sam nodded and smiled. 

Dean leaned down and pressed his lips to Sam’s. Warmth spread quickly through Sam’s body and he parted his lips willingly. But Dean just kissed Sam’s fuller bottom lip and then straightened up. “Get in and keep warm.”

Dean headed to the washroom and the door creaked shut behind him.

Sam was alone in the room. The fire was crackling and the bed was soft and comfortable. Such a _huge_ house.

~~~~~~~

One morning, cool like many, Sam jerked awake from a dream. The fire had burned down to embers and there was a chill creeping into the room.

Dean was sleeping soundly at Sam’s side. Sam smiled as he looked at the freckles that were scattered across Dean’s nose and cheeks. He looked really peaceful as he slept. It was, quite possibly, the first time that Sam had seen his husband look so relaxed.

A sound made Sam hold his breath and listen more intently; he could hear music. _Piano_. Sam climbed out of bed carefully and slipped his robe on over his nightclothes. His boots were at the foot of the bed and he stepped into them quietly.

He crept across the room and headed out into the hall. The notes from the piano were coming from the main floor and Sam headed down the wide staircase.

As he walked across the huge foyer, Sam couldn’t help but look up at the huge hole in the roof. The sky outside was clouded over but the orange glow of the sun was just beginning to creep up.

Sam followed the sound of the piano across the foyer and down a short corridor to another enormous room. Of course, it was John at the keys. The piece he was playing was very sad and Sam walked as quietly as he could into the room.

There were carpets scattered about the room, some comfortable overstuffed sofas and the grand piano at which John was seated.

As Sam looked around the room, he noticed a large painting. It was a portrait of a beautiful woman with long blonde hair. There was an enigmatic smile on her face and the jade green dress she was wearing matched her eyes. Her eyes looked just like Dean’s.

“That’s Mary,” John said as he continued to slide his fingers over the ivory keys.

“I’m sorry, John. I didn’t mean to disturb your playing.” Sam found that he didn’t want to look away from the portrait. Mary Winchester had a very beautiful smile.

“We were married young,” John said as he continued to play the melancholy piece of music. “When we had Dean, things changed a great deal. The older Dean got the more abusive she became.”

Sam frowned and moved over to the long piano bench then sat down at John’s side.

“I tried to protect Dean, but I couldn’t be here all the time. I was working, selling the clay from our mines to businesses for miles around.” John’s arm brushed Sam’s as he reached for the lower keys. The music was as beautiful as the story was tragic and Sam was mesmerized.

“She kept Dean in the attic most of the time. I let her, even though it saddened me because he was safer there.”

“It must have been horrible for both of you,” Sam said softly.

“Dean was a beautiful child. It was … easy to love him. With my love for him came my willingness to protect him from whatever I could. Love does that.” John’s voice was quieter than usual and he finally stopped playing.

When John looked at Sam out of the corner of his eye, his mood seemed to change suddenly and he smiled. “Let me show you our Library.”

John stood and led Sam to the floor to ceiling bookshelves at the very far end of the room. They climbed a set of stairs that led to an elevated alcove with a small roll top desk and two comfortable wingback chairs.

Sam sat in one of them and watched as John picked up some of the books. “There are so many of them.”

“Books?” John set a few books in front of Sam and sat down on the other chair. “It was one of the ways Dean and I kept ourselves busy. It’s possible to lose oneself completely in some stories.” John flipped through one of the dusty books until he found something that interested him.

John set the book on Sam’s lap and sat back looking rather pleased with himself.

Confused, Sam smiled then looked down at the page the book was open to. At once, he could feel heat burning his cheeks.

The book was open to two illustrations. The first was of two young men standing in front of a bay window. They were both completely naked, their members swollen and in the grips of each other's’ hands.

Sam swallowed and cleared his throat. When his gaze moved to the second illustration, he shifted restlessly. The same two men were lying on a chaise-lounge. Their naked bodies were pressed flush together. Sam could clearly see the member of one man entering the other. He closed the book as slowly as he could manage.

“Surely, you’re not embarrassed, are you, Sam?” John crossed his legs and sat back in the chair. “Now that you and Dean are married, you must have been in those positions yourself.”

Sam laughed nervously and tried to look as casual as he could. The problem was that he was completely uncomfortable. Not only did he _not_ want to be having the discussion, he absolutely didn’t want to be having it with his father-in-law.

“You look as though you’re going to pass out, Sam.” John’s laughter was low and deep.

Sam scratched at the stubble on his cheek and looked over at John from beneath his lashes. “We haven’t … Dean has been very respectful of my mourning.”

John’s smile brightened and Sam was certain the man actually looked pleased with himself.

“Well,” John said softly. “I’m sure that will change now that you’re settled here.”

Nodding, Sam handed the book back to John. He wished that he was as confident as John that he and Dean would become more intimate with one another. Each night since they had arrived at Winchester Hall, Dean had come to bed after Sam was already asleep. Sometimes, when Sam woke in the middle of the night, it was to find the covers turned back and Dean missing. When Sam had asked Dean about his nocturnal disappearances the response had been that he walked around the house when he had trouble sleeping. 

Sam had attempted to stay awake so that he could keep Dean company but the tea John made him at night always made him _so_ sleepy.

“Come,” John said as he stood. “Let’s make breakfast before Dean wakes up.”

Smiling, Sam nodded and followed John back down the stairs.

~~~~~~~

Days passed slowly for Sam even though there seemed to be a lot going on at Winchester Hall.

Dean was busy working on the full-size clay extractor. There were some parts being fitted to the machine. The air outside was always full of the clanging and clattering of machine parts. Every now and again Sam would hear Dean swear and, for some reason, that always amused him.

John was a difficult man to figure out. He seemed to spend a lot of time on his own. When the sound of the piano wasn't floating through the many hallways and rooms, Sam had no idea where he might run into John.

Often, Sam wouldn’t see John unless he ventured into the kitchen. Dean said that cooking relaxed his father, but Sam was never sure he’d seen much variety of moods when it came to John.

For his part, Sam spent a lot of time exploring. There were so many rooms that Sam felt he could spend months investigating them and still have more to see.

Many of the rooms were locked and Sam hadn’t had the courage to ask for the house keys again; he was too afraid of John’s reaction. But there was much to investigate.

One of the oddest discoveries Sam made was a room that looked as though it had once been a nursery. The dust in the room was thick on every surface. All the colors of the toys were muted by the gray, dusty covering. In the corner of the room, there was a wheelchair that had rolled a slight distance, leaving a trail in the dust. Sam had convinced himself that it had been the wind that moved it or, perhaps, the settling of the house. 

There were many bedrooms in various states of disrepair. Sam wondered if, in the distant past, the Hall had been a place of socializing and family. How things must have changed since then.

When Sam wasn’t exploring Winchester Hall, he spent hours walking on the lands that belonged to the family. Though trees were sparse, there were some hills that provided a great view of all that John and Dean owned. There were splashes of red scattered about the land; the clay seeping up through the ground.

He loved the wind whipping through his long hair and the way it made his cheeks feel tight and warm. The fresh air seemed to chase away the cobwebs and dust that was gathered on everything inside Winchester Hall. Every few days, Dean would accompany him on his walk and those were the most pleasant days. He found that Dean seemed much more free to speak when he was out on the hills. Maybe it was the surroundings, maybe it was being away from the stress of the Excavator and Winchester Hall.

Winchester Hall was an enigma, after all.

Sometimes, when Sam was wandering the corridors, he was certain that he heard a woman crying. It was a sad sound, melancholy. Try as he might, though, Sam couldn’t discover where the sounds came from. He quizzed Dean about the staff in the Hall only to find out that Gabriel was the only remaining person in service. 

So, the days passed. But the best of them were when Dean was hidden away in his workshop and Sam could spend time with him there. It was Sam’s favorite room in the Hall. The entire room was a collection of Dean’s projects, inventions, sketches and the _treasures_ he collected when they were out walking.The workshop was one of the most lively places in Winchester Hall. Sam headed to the attic shortly after breakfast most days.

~~~~~~~

Outside one morning, the sun was bright but it hardly filtered into the attic at all. But Sam didn’t mind. The attic was warm and interesting and Dean was nearly always there if he wasn’t outside.

“Dean? Can I come in?” Sam peeked into the room around the door frame.

“Of course!” Dean slid off the stool he was perched on and strode over to take Sam’s hand. “You never have to ask. I keep telling you that.”

Sam let himself be pulled into the middle of the room and they came to a stop in front of the main workbench.

Dean’s workshop was chock full of the most marvelous things Sam had ever seen. It was a magical place. There were work benches all around the room, each one covered with random supplies, pieces of wood, metal parts and projects in various stages.

In the center of the room, there was a table holding the model of Dean’s clay extractor. Dean had made a lot of progress on the extractor, which wasn’t surprising considering how much time he spent working on it.

Near the large skylight, Sam saw a small statue he hadn’t noticed before. He ran his fingers over the frozen mane of a small horse captured in wood. “Did you make this?”

Smiling, Dean nodded. He picked up the small horse and ran his finger down its back. “Oddly enough, it was my mother who taught me how to carve.”

The smile on Dean’s face faded slightly and he put the horse back down on the workbench.

Sadness clung to Dean sometimes. It was like a cool fog that lingered in his wake. “Dean? What happened to your mother?”

After a tired sigh, Dean walked to the center table and fiddled with the extractor model. “I don’t really know. There was some kind of accident. She was killed.”

“I saw the portrait of her in the drawing room. She was beautiful,” Sam offered. He had no idea how to broach the topic of Dean suffering abuse at his Mother’s hand.

“She was beautiful,” Dean agreed. “But.” He seemed to change his mind about speaking and shrugged.

“What?” Sam urged.

“It’s just that sometimes, I’m not certain I actually remember her - rather I remember her through tales my father has told me or the paintings we have.”

Sam began to wonder if Dean had been too young to remember what had happened to him. He’d read once that people could suffer memory loss when it came to great trauma. “What do you remember most about her?”

“The way the sunlight caught her hair. It was a lovely blonde, much lighter than mine,” Dean answered easily.

“Your eyes are very like hers.”

“Do you think so? I like that,” Dean said softly.

The answer made Sam’s heart hurt and he took a step closer. “You must miss her still.” He lifted his hand and smoothed it over Dean’s cheek.

For some reason, Dean frowned slightly. He leaned into Sam's hand and stared into Sam’s eyes. “You’re so different…”

It was Sam’s turn to frown. “From whom?”

After a couple of seconds, Dean squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. He shrugged. “From everyone.”

It seemed like a good thing, so Sam smiled and let his thumb trail down Dean’s neck. 

When Dean looked up again, his eyes were darker. There was just a sliver of green around black pupils.

Feeling more bold than usual, Sam stepped into Dean’s body and slid his arm around Dean’s waist. He pressed his hands to the strength of Dean’s back and felt a ripple of pleasure trip its way down his body. He felt the same way every time he was close to Dean, and he wanted to be closer.

Leaning in slowly, Sam kept his gaze trained on Dean’s eyes until the last possible moment. He pressed his mouth to Dean’s, then dragged his teeth over Dean’s bottom lip.

He heard Dean’s breath catch in his chest then felt Dean’s firm grip on his hips. The heat that had been a simple spark burst to light into Sam’s veins. He wanted Dean.

Their mouths came together a little more firmly as Dean walked Sam backward. His fingers tugged at the bottom of Sam’s white shirt until it came free from his trousers. 

When Dean’s cool fingers hit Sam’s flesh, he sucked in a quick breath. Dean laughed softly into the kiss. He tucked his hand up under the hem of Sam’s shirt and rubbed his thumb over Sam’s sensitive flesh.

Dean moved quickly and grabbed Sam around the waist so that he could lift him up and set him on the workbench.

Being lifted up made Sam’s head spin and when Sam reached out to steady himself he knocked something over. He could hear metal against wood. Then Dean’s hands were gripping his thighs and moving his legs apart. The questing hands moved up Sam’s thighs and curved around his hips to bring their bodies closer together.

“Dean.” The name was hardly more than a whisper as it passed Sam’s lips. He slipped his fingers into Dean’s hair and hooked his legs around Dean’s. He felt like he couldn’t get close enough.

A shudder took hold of Sam’s body as Dean’s hot tongue slid forward to fill his mouth. Sam felt his muscles go weak and he pushed his free hand under Dean’s shirt. All Dean’s skin was hot, and Sam could feel the hard strength of muscle just below it as Dean’s hips twisted slightly.

It felt insanely perfect to be so close to Dean. Blood was racing through Sam’s body and he could feel his arousal pressing up against the tight material of his trousers.

Dean yanked hard on Sam’s hair to tip his head back, then his teeth dragged over Sam’s Adam’s apple. The sound that Sam made surprised him. It was a deep moan that seemed to unlock a passion deep inside him that he’d never felt before.

A bang outside the door made Sam jump and Dean shot back a few steps as though he’d been scalded.

As the workroom door opened, Sam _just_ managed to get his hands on his lap to cover the obvious evidence of his arousal.

John’s broad silhouette filled the doorframe. “I’ve brought some tea. You’ve been hidden up here for hours already, Dean.” Dean _had_ been in his workshop since very early; that was why Sam had gone looking for him in the first place.

When John moved into the room, Dean circled the center table and seemed to be trying to stay away from his father.

Frowning, Sam shifted uncomfortably on the counter. He could feel the steely weight of John’s gaze on him. He rubbed at the flush he could feel burning on his cheek.

“Are you showing Sam the work you’ve been doing, _Son_?” There was a knife-sharp edge to John’s tone that drew Sam’s gaze.

The two Winchesters stared at one another for a while and then Dean nodded once.

“Well, here’s some tea for you, Sam. We don’t want you to get too cold. I’m quite certain you’re not acclimatized yet.”

John set the tray down on the center counter and poured a cup of tea before handing it to Sam.

Hesitating slightly, Sam cleared his throat and then took the cup. The now familiar smell of the berries wafted up and Sam lowered the cup slightly.

“Tea, Dean?” John turned to face his son with the spout of the kettle poised over a second teacup.

Dean shook his head. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

For a few moments, Dean looked as though he was going to say something to Sam, then he looked down at the extractor model.

John put the tea pot down and walked around the counter to peer over his son’s shoulder. “Tell me about the most recent improvements you’ve made.”

Sam sighed and took a sip of the bitter tea. His stomach knotted and he closed his eyes. It was beginning to seem as though John Winchester had the worst timing in the world.

~~~~~~~


	3. Chapter 3

When Sam opened his eyes, it looked like the middle of the night. There were only glowing embers in the fireplace and he could feel the cool air on his face.

A pain in his stomach made Sam grimace and he rolled over to look for Dean. But, the other side of the bed was empty. Sam reached out and felt the heavy cotton sheet. It was cold to the touch.

It felt as though all the muscles in Sam’s stomach were cramping and tying up in knots. After a brief tussle with the covers, he managed to sit up.

There was a candelabra at the bedside and the candles were short but still flickering creating a small circle of light around them. The inconsistent flames made the shadows in the bedroom dance menacingly. Sam found himself wishing that Dean’s warm presence was right there beside him.

He sighed and pushed the covers back completely so he could drop his feet to the cold floor. Dean was often gone now that he seemed to feel that Sam had settled in. Usually, Sam fell asleep again while trying to wait for his husband’s return but the nagging pain in his stomach made him restless.

Squinting, Sam looked around the room. The bedroom door was ajar and Sam decided to see if he could find Dean. He picked up the candelabra and headed over to the door. It creaked and groaned as Sam pushed it open; he was never sure how Dean managed to leave the room quietly.

The corridor revealed itself slowly as Sam’s eyes became more accustomed to the darkness. He couldn't help holding up the candles ahead of him even though the light seemed so small in comparison to the huge dark space ahead.

As usual, the corridor was filled with the noises of Winchester Hall. Sam wished that with each passing day he would grow more used to the sounds, but he didn’t. There was nothing peaceful about the Hall. Even in broad daylight, Sam felt like he wanted to escape from the heaviness of the Winchester family home.

His feet already freezing, Sam headed down the hallway. Sometimes, when Dean was _missing_ in the middle of the night, Sam thought he could hear voices or music. He wondered if Dean and his father were having a late-night discussion somewhere in the maze of rooms. But the voices never continued long enough for Sam to discover their source.

There was a scratching sound coming from further down the corridor and Sam held the candelabra up higher. He couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

He headed down the corridor and tried to determine where the scratching originated. It was probably a mouse or, worse, a rat. Sam shuddered. He disliked rats a great deal.

The sounds were a little louder and Sam tilted his head to listen more carefully. His eyes settled on a door a few feet ahead of him. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he muttered to himself.

Spurred on by how silly he felt being scared of some noises, Sam headed towards the door. His fingers curled around the brass doorknob and he turned it slowly. When he pulled the door open, it smelled old and musty inside.

Contrary to what Sam had thought, it wasn’t the door to a room but a door to a small storage space. There were thick wooden shelves that held stacks of yellowed papers, a pile of folded material and a small leather case.

Sam pulled the case out carefully and looked around for somewhere to set it down. There was a small desk tucked into an alcove a few feet away so Sam headed towards it. 

He set the candles down first then the case and flipped the buckles open. Inside was a gramophone and a few of the wax cylinders that must hold recordings. It was an unusual find and Sam decided it was something he would listen to in the future. There was no question in his mind; he wanted to hear what was on the cylinders. It was more of an instinct than anything else.

The air was cold and Sam shivered. He buckled the case up again and picked it up off the table so he could put it back in the cupboard. Returning to hear the recordings would be high on his list of priorities, just not in the middle of the night when every sound made him leery.

A strange sound made it’s way to Sam’s ears and he paused as he tilted his head. It was an unusual scraping sound, dragging, the sliding of something soft on wood.

Sam’s mouth went very dry and he stepped back away from the door slowly. Fear pushed the hairs on the back of his neck upright and he closed the cupboard door as quietly as he could. The small click of the catch sounded thunderous in the dark corridor and then the scraping sound started up again. 

Every cell in Sam’s body _knew_ that he should just race back to the bedroom but there was always the niggling voice of Sam’s curiosity.

When he finally found the courage to turn and look over his shoulder, he gasped.

The black, oily smoke had returned. As Sam turned slowly, his eyes widened. The plume of black whirled faster for a few moments and began to take shape. Fingers emerged first,then arms were reaching towards Sam from within the plume.

A cacophony of voices and cries gathered around Sam and he searched behind him to snatch up the candelabra so he could bolt down the hallway. He stumbled once and caught himself in time to prevent a fall.

Cool hands grasped at Sam’s hair and he darted forward as fast as he could. But, the presence behind him was still there and the pain in his stomach was slowing him down.

The elevator cage appeared out of the gloom ahead of him and Sam shot inside quickly for refuge. He slammed the gate closed and reached out blindly to set the elevator in motion. The cables clanked awake and the cage began to move down. The cool wisps of smoky presence remained behind and Sam let out a small sigh of relief.

The foyer appeared, then disappeared as the elevator continued deep into the belly of Winchester Hall.

When the cage clanged to a halt, Sam held his breath for a few moments. The sound echoed around the darkness giving Sam a sense of how large the space around him was.

He held the candles up and squinted out into the darkness. There was no sign of the _being_ from the second floor.

When Sam pulled the gate open, he cringed. The sound seemed loud enough to wake the entire house. If Dean _had_ made it back to bed, Sam didn’t want to get caught in the one place he wasn’t supposed to go: the mines. Then again, the idea of Dean’s company in the cold darkness of the mine was appealing.

The earthy scent of the clay was all around Sam and he slowed his breathing. It was heady and rich like grass after an early morning rainstorm.

A few tentative steps later, Sam was at the edge of the first vat of clay. There was a heavy cover that was pushed slightly to the side. When the circle of candlelight illuminated the contents Sam could see the blood red clay. He couldn’t resist slipping his finger into the thick liquid. It was cold and heavy and the muddy scent of it wafted up as Sam swirled his finger.

Something clicked behind Sam and he straightened so quickly that the candles all flickered.

The thought of being plunged into absolute darkness down in the huge mine made Sam’s heart begin to race.

He took a couple of deep breaths then swung the candelabra in a wide arch around him. He froze when he saw a huge trunk off to one side.

Sam paced over to the trunk and peered at it. The huge case was constructed from a thick worn brown leather. Each corner was burnished with a copper corner stamp. There were two copper buckles that held leather straps tightly around the trunk.

For some reason, Sam wanted to open it. He wasn’t sure why he needed to see inside the trunk; it was a strange compulsion. Even as he thought how odd such curiosity was Sam’s long fingers worked the buckles free and he tugged the trunk open. It smelled musty inside, and Sam coughed slightly. The smell made him feel a little ill but he still leaned in closer to light the trunk’s interior.

There were women’s clothes suspended from a metal bar. A small shelf spanned the top of the trunk and there was a sheet of old brown paper.

Sam grabbed the paper and held it up. There was a short list on the paper. The first name was _Jamestown_ , the second _New York_ and the third was _Hampton_. The names were all written in the same cursive. It was bold handwriting with tall curves and swooping loops. It looked a little familiar to Sam but he couldn’t remember where he might have seen it.

Sam tucked the paper under his arm and looked around one final time before turning back to the elevator. The middle of the night wasn’t the best choice for adventuring in the mine.

And the _feminine_ whirl of smoky presence upstairs weighed heavy on Sam’s mind. It felt as though he was missing a clue that was being handed to him: a message perhaps.

Still clutching the paper, Sam headed back into the elevator and slammed the gate shut. He set the machinery in motion towards the second floor and the warmth and security of the bedroom.

The dull pain in Sam’s stomach was still throbbing and he groaned. He couldn’t get back to the bedroom fast enough.

When the elevator finally lurched to a stop, Sam was shivering again. He yanked the gate open and used all of his willpower to walk, rather than run, to the bedroom door.

He had no idea how long he’d been gone, but when he set the candelabra down again he could see Dean’s tousled blonde hair against his pillow.

Relief slowed Sam’s heart rate to a more normal pace and he set the paper in the top drawer of the nightstand. He slipped out of his clothes as quickly as he could.

As he slipped under the covers, Sam smiled. Dean’s presence in the bed was a welcome surprise. He pulled the quilts up high and pressed up close to Dean’s back. “Mmm,” Dean murmured sleepily. “You’re cold.” He slipped his arm over Sam’s and held on.

It was a while before Sam fell back to sleep but he nestled up to Dean’s back and enjoyed his husband’s presence. His mind kept wandering back to the strange, cloudy figure. If it truly was a spirit, how would Sam ever learn how to deal with it?

One of the last things that Sam wondered was if he simply had to find a way to speak to the mysterious being. It was possible that there was something it wanted to tell him.

He was still thinking about it as his eyelids grew heavy and his lashes lowered slowly.

~~~~~~~

Sam wandered outside late on a chilly afternoon. Dean was working on the extractor with Gabriel. There was a lot of smoke billowing from the top pipe on the extractor but Sam found it hard to tell how things were progressing. Gabriel was at the controls while Dean ran from one problem area to another trying to improve the function of the great metal beast.

After a while, Sam’s thoughts returned to the feminine presence he had seen in the house. There had to be a reason why the spirit was trying to contact him, something that it wanted to say. It wasn’t in Sam’s nature to believe that all spirits were evil; he liked the idea that there was a reason for everything in the world.

Sam shook his head as he wandered closer to the extractor. He couldn’t believe that he had reached the point at which he could think so casually about something that might be a ghost.

Still, there had to be a reason for a haunting of any kind and Dean might be the only person who could shed any light on the history of the Hall.

When Dean returned to the front side of the extractor, Sam approached him. Sometimes, he felt it was better to ask Dean questions while he was distracted with his work. Dean always seemed most relaxed when he was wrapped up in the inner workings of his machine.

“Dean? Can I ask you something?” Sam smiled warmly.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Dean glanced over at Sam. “Can it wait a little while? I’m almost finished for the day. Gabriel needs to travel home for a few days and we have a lot to do”

“It’s just something I’ve have been thinking about,” Sam answered. He moved along beside Dean as he went back to adjusting various parts of the extractor.

“Keep it going, Gabriel!” Dean called out over the sound of the machine.

Sam stepped a little closer to ensure he would be heard. “Dean, has anyone ever died in this house?”

“What?” Dean wrenched on a lever and leaned in to listen to the machine.

“Has anyone ever died here at Winchester Hall?” Sam asked again. Now that he’d finally asked he wasn’t going to give up without an answer.

Dean withdrew his hand from the machine and wiped it on a rag that was hanging from his trouser pocket. His eyes were darker than usual when he looked intently at Sam. “Sam, Winchester Hall is very old. Of course, people have … I mean people must have - what is this about, Sam?”

Frustration nipped at Sam’s heels and he took a couple of steps closer. “Why do _you_ believe in ghosts, Dean?”

“What?” Dean ran a hand through his hair and turned back to the extractor. He reached in behind one of the huge gears and grimaced as he tried to maneuver something.

“Why do _you_ believe in ghosts?” Sam heard the engine on the extractor sputter a little and he couldn't help stepping back a little.

Shaking his head, Dean pulled his hand free and then reached into another spot. “Sam, I just believe, I suppose. Emotions and - shit!”

Dean snatched his hand in close to his body. “Turn it off, Gabriel.”

By the time the machine finished its death rattle, Sam could see that Dean’s hand was bleeding. “My God, Dean.”

Sam pulled his clean handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it to the wound that had opened across Dean’s palm. “Come inside and I’ll bandage it for you.”

Nodding, Dean followed Sam back into Winchester Hall.

~~~~~~~

Dean hopped up onto the kitchen counter and held out his hand for Sam to bandage.

The cut was deep enough that a bloom of red appeared on the first few layers of white gauze that Sam wrapped around his husband’s hand. “You should be more careful.”

There was a smirk on Dean’s face. “Then I wouldn't have you taking care of me, would I?” 

“I suppose you wouldn’t.” A smile made its way onto Sam’s lips as he finished tying the bandage. “There. _Be_ careful with it.”

As Sam put the remaining bandages away, Dean sat and fussed with the edges of the gauze. “Your uncle would be pleased, my hands are getting rough.”

When Sam turned around, Dean’s mood seemed to have darkened. “Are you alright?”

Dean nodded but then let out a frustrated sounding sigh. “Why did I bring you here, Sam? It’s such a brutal place. I took you away from everything you knew for … this.”

“Don’t say that,” Sam answered quickly. “You know that I’m happy with you.”

“I’m a failure, Sam. I .. ruin everything I touch. I shouldn’t have brought you here.” Dean clenched his hands together and dropped his gaze.

“That’s not true,” Sam answered. He’d noticed before that Dean didn't seem to have much confidence in himself when it came right down to it. It was a far cry from the self-assured front he had put on in Buffalo when he was always the most commanding presence in the room.

Dean smiled sadly and curved his hand over Sam’s cheek. “You’re sweet, but you’ll see soon enough. When the snow begins to fall, you’ll begin to hate it. You’ll see why they call it _Crimson Peak._ ”

Every drop of blood in Sam’s veins ran cold. He stared at Dean until he had to move so that Dean could slide off the counter.

“What did you say?” Sam asked softly. 

“The locals call our land _Crimson Peak_. In the winter, when the snow falls, the red clay seeps up through the snow. It’s like leaving bloody footprints in the snow. It looks like the aftermath of some kind of massacre”

Halfway out the kitchen door, Dean was still talking about how bad the weather was going to be throughout the winter months but all that Sam could hear in his mind was _Crimson Peak_. It was the very same name the ghostly form of his mother had whispered to him.

_Beware the Crimson Peak._

But it was too late. What had the warning been about? 

Sam’s head was still spinning as he followed Dean from the kitchen.

~~~~~~~

Another night. When Sam opened his eyes, there was a terrible pain in his chest and his throat was dry and itchy. The only drink by the bed was the teacup that held the remains of some of the bitter tea that John was always insisting upon. The thought of drinking more of it turned Sam’s stomach.

He sat up slowly, realized Dean wasn’t in bed and headed to the washroom for a drink of water. The first sip of water launched a coughing fit and when Sam covered his mouth he could feel it getting wet. When he looked at his palm there was blood on it. For the first time, Sam was beginning to feel frightened.

He headed back to the bedroom to grab the candelabra from the bedside table. He was sick, he was exhausted and he was frustrated. Enough was enough. If there were spirits in Winchester Hall they may well have information that would _help_ Sam.

The light flickered as Sam held the candles up towards the ceiling. “Is there someone here with me? Do you have something to tell me?” 

There wasn’t a sound in the room other than the wind whistling through the cracks in one of the huge windows. 

When Sam was certain he heard nothing, he turned slightly and held the candles up even higher. “Talk to me! Is there something you’re trying to tell me? Something to warn me about?”

A blow smacked into Sam’s arm so hard that he fell to the floor. The candles were snuffed out when they fell on the carpet and Sam blinked to try and fight off the claustrophobic darkness.

There was a rush of air beside Sam; it was so strong that his hair was tousled. He crawled back towards the bathroom to try and escape the onslaught. But the wind continued to swirl around Sam and his eyes began to water. He crawled further into the washroom and could hear a strange groaning and cracking.

The sound drew Sam’s gaze over to the bathtub. There was a bizarre glow from behind the porcelain and a black shape was appearing inside the well of the tub. The sound of water dripping was so loud it was like a drum pounding away inside Sam’s mind. With each drop of blood-red water from the faucet, the smoke in the bathtub took more form.

Soon enough, Sam could see a distinctly female presence. She was reclining in the bathtub, long wisps of black hair curling and snaking around her head.

Sam sat up on his knees and stared. Long, dark fingers curled over the edge of the bathtub. In an instant, everything changed. A huge blade from above slammed down into the woman’s skull and cleaved it open.

Blood, red swirls mixed with the black snake-like hair and the mouth opened in a silent and horrifying scream.

Sam scrambled backward from the horror that was unfolding in front of him. Whoever the woman was, she had suffered the most violent death Sam could ever imagine.

Just as Sam reached the washroom door, the woman lurched over the side of the tub and began to slither towards him. A single, long, black finger pointed in Sam’s direction. Then a voice filled the entire room with its wheezing. “You are next.”

Sam wasn’t sure if he yelled or called for Dean. It felt as though his terrified heart would burst open right in the center of his chest.

After what seemed like forever, Sam managed to make his way out of the bathroom. He stumbled as he clambered to his feet and then he ran.

Calling out for Dean, Sam darted across the dark bedroom and collided with the end of the bed before pushing off from it. He kept yelling Dean’s name as he ran out into the hall and down the long corridor.

When Sam reached the broad staircase, he slipped off the top step and landed hard on his hip.

A hand curled around Sam’s biceps and he tried to twist free.

“Sam! Calm down! I’m here.”

_Dean._

Eyes widening, Sam turned to stare up at his husband. Dean’s hair was tousled, his cheeks ruddy and his shirt hung loose and unbuttoned.

For the briefest moment, uncertainty flickered through Sam’s mind but then it dissipated. “Dean, I have to leave this house,” Sam said shakily.

~~~~~~~

John handed Sam a steaming cup of tea and stood back.

The china cup rattled against its saucer in Sam’s trembling hand. The thought of drinking the tea made him feel nauseous but the was thankful for the warmth of the cup against his palms.

“I’m _telling_ you,” Sam said. “I _need_ to leave here. It was. It was a warning. Something terrible is going to happen to me if I stay here.”

The smile on John’s face was cold as ice. “Sam, you have nowhere else to go. This is your home now.”

Sam set the tea down on the tray in front of him and reached out to grab Dean’s hand. “Please, Dean. I can’t stay here.”

After a quick glance at his father, Dean sat down on the arm of Sam’s chair. His cool palm settled over Sam’s brow. “Sam. You’re just not feeling well. You’re feverish and I don't know what you think you saw -”

“- I _know_ what I saw, Dean.” Sam couldn’t help getting frustrated and he shook off Dean’s hand. He wasn’t at all surprised that John didn’t believe him but he expected more from Dean. He and Dean had had conversations about spirits and ghosts long before they even left Buffalo.

“Alright, Sam,” Dean said calmly. “But I need you to calm down. It isn’t good for you to be so wound up.”

John let out a tight laugh and folded his arms across his chest.

When Sam looked up he noticed that John’s shirt was also unbuttoned. He wasn’t wearing a belt and the fastener on his trousers was undone. Frowning, he looked back at Dean and pressed his hand to his husband’s bare chest.

“Dean? Please, can we leave here?”

Dean covered Sam’s hand with his own and smiled. “Look. I have to pick up some parts from the depot tomorrow. Why don’t you come with me? The fresh air will do you a world of good.”

Sam nodded slowly. He would do anything to get away from Winchester Hall.

“A little trip will make you feel better,” John added. He yawned and unfolded his arms. “I’ll leave you to … well - goodnight.”

Sam was sure that Dean glared at his father.

Once John left the bedroom, Dean leaned down slightly to pull Sam into his arms. His lips rested against Sam’s hair and he let out a long sigh.

Sam held on to Dean as though his life depended on it. He felt safer next to Dean but his entire body was still trembling.

“Come to bed with me, Sam.” Dean withdrew enough to help Sam to his feet. “Come on.”

They headed over to the bed and Dean climbed in first and held the quilt up for Sam. In moments, he was pressed up against Dean’s body.

“I’m so sorry, Sam.” Dean’s hand curled around the back of Sam’s neck and pulled him in as close as possible. “I wish I knew how to help you.”

Even though Sam wondered what Dean was apologizing for, he didn’t really care. As long as they could lie there together and he could leave Winchester Hall in the morning that was good enough. Dean would keep all the _bad_ away from them both.

Dean’s lips pressed to Sam’s forehead, the height of his cheek and then the tip of his nose. “Fresh air tomorrow.”

 _Fresh air_ and they would be away from Winchester Hall.

~~~~~~~

The depot was bustling when Sam and Dean arrived. The weather had turned cold and Sam was glad to reach the warmth of the building. He had preferred the fresh air to the oppressiveness of Winchester Hall though and would have happily frozen to death to avoid returning.

_Crimson Peak._

The warning that Sam’s mother had tried to give him had missed the mark. And now, there was another spirit, one whose head was cleaved open while she reclined in the bathtub, trying to warn Sam again.

Sam watched as Dean sorted through the machine parts that had been shipped to him. There were several boxes to go through and Sam stood to the side and watched. Seeing Dean so animated was a pleasant distraction from the terrible thoughts that lingered in Sam’s mind.

“Sir?”

Sam turned to find the staff person behind the counter calling to him. He walked over to the counter. “Yes?”

“There’s some mail here for Winchester Hall. Could you take it, Sir?”

“Of course,” Sam answered. He picked up the handful of letters that were on the counter. There were a couple of envelopes that looked like they were personal letters and there was one from Carver Edlund. Sam supposed the one from Carver contained the financial papers that Sam needed to sign in order to bring the remainder of his funds from Buffalo.

“Sam!” Dean called out.

“Yes?” Sam wandered back over to the boxes of machine parts.

“There’s a snowstorm blowing in, we should get going or we might get snowed in.” Dean wiped his hands on his handkerchief and then stuffed it back into the pocket of the overcoat he was wearing.

“Really?” Sam peered out of the open doors at the front portion of the building. There were already bright, white, snowflakes whirling around. The visibility had to be less than 10 feet. Sam sighed. He _really_ had no desire to go back to Winchester Hall.

“Baronet?” The man behind the counter spoke up again. “There’s a room in the back if you two would like to stay here tonight. We could stable your horses for you.”

Sam smiled at Dean, hoping that staying at the depot was an option. “Can we, Dean? Please?”

Glancing over his shoulder at the snow, Dean scratched at his temple. When he looked back at Sam he looked a little worried. He chewed on his bottom lip for a few moments. “My father will be worried.”

“Please, Dean. I’m not up for another carriage ride in the cold. Just one night?”

Dean sighed and looked back at the snow before returning his gaze to Sam. His expression softened and he smiled. “I suppose we could.”

Relief made Sam’s shoulders slump as he felt half the tension in his body dissipate. A night away from Winchester Hall was about the best thing that Sam could imagine. He smiled brightly for the first time in days.

Dean looked back out at the snow once more, staring as though he was trying to _see_ something through the white flurries.

As far as Sam could tell there was nothing there but a snowstorm. “It will be a lovely evening, Dean.”

The man behind the counter cleared his throat. “There’s a small coal fire and a beautiful view from the window. 

“Why not,” Dean said as his smile broadened.

~~~~~~~

Sam flipped a quilt open and spread it over the Shaker framed bed. Dean grabbed hold of the opposite side and helped Sam straighten the bed clothes. “It’s rather rustic, don’t you think, Sam?”

“I like it,” Sam said easily. He was telling the absolute truth. It didn't matter to him how small the room was, or how threadbare the quilts looked. He was alone with Dean, the room was warm, the lighting was pleasant and all he could hear was the storm raging outside. It was comforting in a way.

“Tell me more about your newest story, Sam.” Dean began to tug a pillow case onto one of the overstuffed pillows. “I’ve been wondering about what’s going to happen to your hero.”

It always pleased Sam when his husband showed an interest in the writing that had brought them together in the first place. “He hasn’t let me know yet.”

Laughing, Dean set the pillow at the head of the bed and sat down to pull his boots off. “What do you mean? _Hasn’t let you know_.”

“Well.” Sam fluffed the pillow on his side of the bed and slipped out of his own boots so he could climb onto the bed. “My characters are just like real people. They speak to me and tell me about their choices.”

“Choices,” Dean murmured. He looked down at his hand where it was tracing the patterns on the quilt. “I don’t think there are always choices, Sam. Sometimes, I think people are trapped.”

The sadness on Dean's face upset Sam. He could see that Dean was talking about himself rather than the characters in Sam’s stories. “Dean? Do you ever think about leaving Winchester Hall?”

“Leave it?” Dean sighed. “It’s all we have. There’s no way to leave it.” Dean smoothed his hands back and forth over his hair.

Sam smiled. He always loved the way Dean’s hair looked when it was a little tousled. “We could take my money and start over. We could go anywhere you wanted. Milan?”

“Milan is beautiful, and very _warm_ ,” Dean said softly.

“What about Paris?” There was no limit to Sam’s imagination. He could think about a life anywhere in the world as long as Dean was at his side.

“You would love sitting at the riverside cafes and writing like some sort of Bohemian. What stories you would be able to compose with all that inspiration surrounding you.” Dean shifted back on his hip and grinned at Sam.

“Or another city here, Jamestown, perhaps?” One of the personal letters Sam had picked up had an American postal cancellation on it.

Dean averted his gaze and rubbed his thumb along his bottom lip. He looked as though his thoughts had taken him a thousand miles away.

“Dean? You’re always so far away. You have to stay here, with me,” Sam pleaded. “I’m _right_ here.” Sam slid his hand over Dean’s thigh and squeezed gently.

When Dean finally looked back down at Sam, his eyes were glistening in the lamp light. He leaned down slowly and pressed his lips to Sam’s.

The kiss was warm, sweet and tender and Sam’s heart fluttered in his chest. Dean kissed the way he did everything when it came to Sam, with passion and care; the most gentle touches that made Sam feel loved.

Sam pushed up onto his elbows so that he could press forward into the kiss.

The response from Dean was instant. He twisted onto his side so that he could cover more of Sam’s body with his. They lay there for a few moments, breathing slowly, staring into each other’s eyes.

Dean blinked and his breathing became more shallow. He licked his lips and all the muscles in his throat worked as he swallowed then he sat back and straddled Sam’s thighs.

For a few breaths, Sam worried that Dean was going to pull away. But then Dean’s shaking fingers were unbuttoning Sam’s shirt.

Sam let his eyes close for a few moments and savored the sensation of Dean’s fingers lightly brushing his skin. When Dean pushed Sam’s shirt open with his hands, he took a deep breath then slid his palms down the length of Sam’s chest.

A shudder rippled down Sam’s body and he couldn’t help the way that his back arched up off the bed. His skin felt like it had caught fire; he’d been aching for Dean’s touch for too long.

When Sam felt Dean hesitate for the briefest moment he simply couldn't take the idea of Dean pulling away from him yet again. He reached his hands around to slip them under Dean’s loose shirt. He dug his nails into the small of his husband's back and held onto him tightly.

Dean’s lips parted to let out a soft sigh of pleasure and he lowered himself back down over Sam’s body. He let his lips ghost over Sam’s cheeks, then along his jaw until he was breathing against the shell of Sam’s ear softly.

Heat and desire spiraled out of control in Sam’s body. He hooked a leg over Dean’s and pushed his hips up off the bed. He wanted _more_.

“God,” Dean murmured. He reared back and stared down at Sam in awe.

“What? Please, don’t …” Sam’s eyes widened and he let his fingers trail down to Dean’s thighs.

Then Sam realized that Dean wasn’t going to stop. The look on Dean’s face was all pleasure. There was a red flush dusting his cheeks and neck, his pupils were wide and there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

Without breaking eye contact, Dean pressed against Sam. He held himself up with one hand and ran the other hand down Sam’s side, over his hip then up to his belt.

The beat of Sam’s heart was so fast that he felt lightheaded. The way Dean was looking at him made Sam feel as though he was the most important person in the world - the _only_ person in the world.

Dean’s deft fingers tugged at Sam’s trousers until the material parted. The silk of Sam’s underpants was so thin that he could feel the heat of Dean’s fingers through it. As soon as Dean began loosening the laces at the waist, Sam could feel the warm air tickling his belly.

Sam let go of Dean so that he could shove at his clothes. It felt like it took years for Sam to kick out of his trousers and underpants but the moment he kicked free, he reached up to begin working on Dean’s clothing.

Dean sat back on one hip and looked down as Sam slipped each one of the shirt buttons free.

“Help me,” Sam said with a nervous laugh.

Dean shook his head slowly and returned the smile. “I- I like you doing it.”

The low rumble of Dean’s voice made Sam’s breath catch. The problem was that the more Sam _wanted_ Dean, the more clumsy his fingers seemed to become.

While he watched his shirt fall away, Dean slid a hand into Sam’s hair. He combed the long strands back off Sam’s forehead. His thumb smoothed over Sam’s eyebrow then settled on his cheek.

The tip of Sam’s tongue wet the bow of his lips then he pushed Dean’s shirt back until it slid halfway down his shoulders. Sam turned his attention to his husband’s trousers quickly and flicked Dean’s belt buckle open and unfastened more buttons. He fumbled with the laces on Dean’s underpants and let out a growl of frustration.

Finally taking pity on Sam, Dean chuckled darkly then rolled onto his back so that he could push his pants and underwear down. Sam leaned forward and pulled everything off over Dean’s feet.

Dean laid back with his shirt hanging off his arms and propped himself up on his elbows. His eyes were still riveted on Sam’s face. “You look … perfect.”

Sam could feel heat burn the apples of his cheeks. He crawled forward and slowly straddled his husband’s thighs. When he swallowed, Sam’s entire throat felt tight. He was nervous and expectant all at the same time. It was difficult to concentrate on anything other than the way Dean looked; all but naked in front of him. Even the white shirt hanging off his muscular arms simply showed off the golden color of Dean’s skin.

With strong arms, Dean pushed himself up so his chest was flush against Sam’s. His smile was warm and genuine.

Sam automatically let his arms rest on Dean's shoulders. “This is good.”

“Good?” Dean raised his eyebrows. There was a sly smile on his face. He slid his hands forward slightly and grabbed Sam’s hips firmly. “Good.”

“G-good,” Sam echoed as the grip ricocheted through his body. Then he bit down on his bottom lip because Dean’s thumb swept through the coarse hair at the base of his already-swollen cock. Suddenly, breathing felt like the most complicated task Sam had ever undertaken, and it was all because Dean’s hands were still moving closer together.

“Is this alright?” Dean asked as his fingers trailed over the turgid flesh of Sam’s member.

If there were any coherent thoughts left in Sam’s mind, he was completely unable to get his mouth to utter them. He nodded and pulled his arms back so his hands could slide over each side of Dean’s chiseled jaw. Rough stubble pricked at Sam’s palms and he rolled his lips together. He wanted to stay there with Dean forever.

Obviously, Dean had other plans. He pushed forward and practically threw Sam down on his back so he could lay down on top of him. “I want you, Sam. I’ve wanted you from the first moment I saw you. You’re - you were …I…”

A shy smile crept onto Sam’s mouth. He leaned up far enough to catch Dean’s mouth briefly with his own. “I love you.”

After a heartbeat of hesitation, the kiss was returned almost fiercely by Dean. He pinned Sam’s wrists to the bed above his head and devoured his husband’s mouth. The kiss was rough, Dean’s teeth claimed Sam’s bottom lip, then his tongue pushed forward and swept across Sam’s mouth.

Sam gasped for air when he could and arched up to press his aching cock harder against the groove of Dean’s hip.

Dean let go of one of Sam’s wrists so he could grab a handful of long hair. He pulled _hard_ until Sam had no choice but to bare his throat to his husband. It was entirely worth the pain from his scalp because each slide of Dean’s lips on Sam’s neck was heavenly. All Sam could feel was pleasure rippling through his body. It was like being wine-drunk and dizzy.

Sam’s hips pushed up off the bed weakly. He could feel how hard Dean was and when the hot flesh of their arousals slid together both men moaned. The moment was almost too much for Sam and he held his breath.

Dean shifted again and slipped his arm under Sam’s leg to lift it to rest on his shoulder.

A flash of nervous energy skittered through Sam. He felt awkward and too exposed and turned his head to the side.

“No,” said Dean softly. His thumb and forefinger grasped Sam’s chin to turn his head back so their eyes met once more. He smiled

All Sam could do was stare. Dean’s lips were swollen, his cheeks ruddy and his dark green eyes were heavy lidded. Dean was the most beautiful man that Sam had ever seen. It was intoxicating and terrifying at the same time.

Sam jumped when he felt something cool and slippery behind his balls. He leaned up slightly to protest but then Dean’s mouth was claiming his once more and he forgot to speak.

A finger pressed inside Sam and he grunted softly into the kiss. He trusted Dean more than he had ever trusted anyone. The pain of the intrusion wasn’t terrible but Sam winced as he felt another finger.

“Relax,” Dean murmured against Sam’s lips. “Breathe. It will hurt less.”

Sam’s brow furrowed. In the midst of the tornado of pleasure that was pummeling him, he tried to take deep breaths. He’d never even asked if Dean had been with any other men but it was becoming obvious that he had.

Dean shifted his hips forward and the pressure to breach Sam’s body increased as pain sliced through him. He grabbed hold of Dean’s arm so hard that his hand ached. The pain was dull and sharp at the same time, overwhelming and Sam let his head fall back as he panted. Dean was inside him and the sensation was nothing like Sam could ever have imagined.

Dean pushed forward slowly, a little with each deep breath and then he was buried deep inside Sam’s body.

Arms wrapped tightly around Dean's neck, Sam held on until the pain subsided. Dean mouthed tenderly at Sam’s neck as he stroked hair back from his sweat-damp brow.

As Sam’s body began to relax again he marveled in the sensation of being so _very_ close to Dean. Each time he breathed in he could smell the fresh scent of Dean’s hair, the spicy hint of sweat and the earthy scent of their bodies mingled together.

When Dean moved his hips, he touched off a white heat somewhere deep inside Sam. A shudder of desire ran the full length of Sam’s body and he let out a raspy moan. Whatever it was that Dean had done made Sam’s blood feel like molten rock, sluggish and thick in his veins.

One of Dean’s hands slid in between their bodies and his rough fingers wrapped around Sam’s member. The blood rushed back to it quickly and Sam felt himself swell in his husband’s knowing caress.

And then Dean was thrusting forwards and all that Sam could manage to do was hold on. He clung to Dean’s arm with one hand, his hip with the other and dug his nails into Dean’s smooth flesh. 

The moved together, their bodies giving and taking as they both gasped for air. Their kisses were poorly aimed but they still managed to hit their mark often enough for both men to moan.

The thrust of Dean’s hips picked up speed and his breath was fiery hot against Sam’s cheek.

Sam grasped at Dean’s hair and let his head fall back. He could feel Dean filling him, stretching his body open wider and at the same time, Dean’s fingers expertly stroked Sam’s cock until it was almost pleasurable torture.

The moment that sealed Sam’s fate was when Dean’s finger brushed over the hypersensitive head of his cock. All the breath rushed out of Sam’s body and his release slammed into him without warning or mercy. Wave after wave of heat and pleasure collided in Sam until he was left quivering, his cock still pulsing weakly and hardly able to draw in a complete breath.

Dean’s hips jolted forwards a few more times and he cried out as he arched his back.

The room around them disappeared as Sam blinked at Dean through the haze of satisfaction that settled its heavy weight upon him.

Finally, Dean pushed forward and collapsed on top of Sam. Their bodies were sticky and hot and they rolled apart slightly. Dean kept an arm strewn across Sam’s waist almost protectively. His eyes were closed, long dark lashes damply kissing his freckled cheeks.

As their breathing slowed, Sam could feel his heart rhythm return to normal. His body ached but he didn’t care because there was still pleasure slithering along in his veins. There was a smile on his face when he finally managed to stretch his arms high above his head. He had no idea how long they’d been lying there but he would willingly stay there forever if he could.

“When I think I may actually be able to walk, I’ll get the wash basin,” Dean murmured near Sam’s ear.

“I can get -”

Dean grabbed Sam’s wrist and held on tightly. “Let me, I want to take care of you.”

The fierce protectiveness was back and Sam relaxed back into the overstuffed bed and his husband’s presence. He nodded.

After a few deep breaths, Sam smiled and closed his eyes. The small, sparsely furnished room felt like the perfect home to Sam simply because Dean was there at his side.

It really was perfect.

~~~~~~~

It remained true that Sam didn’t want to return to Winchester Hall, but some things had changed. To begin with, he felt closer to Dean than he had at any moment since they’d first met. And a night away had done wonders for Sam’s health; the terrible cramps in his stomach had subsided and he had actually been able to eat a full breakfast at the Depot.

The carriage ride back to Winchester Hall was colder than the trip out but Dean was sitting against Sam’s side and they were wrapped in quilts from the Depot suite. Each time the two men glanced at each other, they smiled and Sam felt a little burst of heat in his chest. Things were finally falling into place for them and it made Sam _very_ happy.

The road back to the Hall was a wonderland of white drifts of snow. The limbs of the scattered trees hung heavy with the weight of the damp snow piled on them. In fact, the only reminder of how things had been _before_ was the occasional splash of red on the snow-covered ground.

_Crimson Peak._

By the time the carriage arrived back at the front door, Sam was shivering but happy. Dean went right over to the clay extractor to begin changing out the newly machined part. Clutching the mail that had been given to him at the Depot, Sam headed inside to find John and let him know they were back home.

When he strode into the kitchen, the room was filling with smoke. There was a cast iron pan on the stove with what might have been potatoes. Whatever it was had been reduced to small lumps of charcoal.

The smell made Sam cough and he covered his mouth with his sleeve. He set the letters down on the table and snatched up a tea towel so he could move the pan off the heat. Even through the thick cotton, Sam could feel the burn of the pan. He dropped it back down onto the stove and rubbed his hand on his overcoat.

Footsteps alerted Sam to John’s presence. The elder Winchester stalked into the kitchen and stopped near the stove. “Where _were_ you?”

The edge to John’s voice made Sam take an unconscious step backward. He side-stepped around the end of the long wooden table and tried to smile at John. “We were snowed in. We spent the night at the Depot.”

“Not a thought for how I might feel?” John leaned both clenched fists on the table where he stood opposite Sam.

“What?”

“All I thought about all night was the two of you … alone together.” John’s dark eyes narrowed as he took a step around the edge of the table. He picked up the pan and turned back to the table.

Sam hadn’t a clue why John was so upset, in particular, about Sam and Dean spending an evening alone together. He smiled nervously. “John, he _is_ my husband. It was-”

The iron pan _slammed_ down onto the table scattering food all over the kitchen. “Is this a _game_ to you, Sam? I was frantic!” John yelled. His voice echoed through the house behind them.

Sam blinked slowly and took another step back. “What on _earth_ do you mean?”

“You two alone…” John said through clenched teeth. He seemed to make a concerted effort to calm his voice. “Alone in the storm. There could have been an accident and I was here alone - thinking about the two of you. I don’t like being alone.”

Sam squared his shoulders. John had no right to be so angry at him. It was perfectly reasonable for him and Dean to have stayed at the Depot in such a terrible storm. There was a part of Sam that was surprised that John would have wanted them to risk their safety and that of Gabriel and the horse by traveling in such inhospitable weather.

“You received mail,” John said softly. As he reached out Sam snatched the letters up and tucked them back under his arm. He couldn’t help the defiance he knew was clear on his face.

John said nothing; he simply stared at his son-in-law with cold, dark eyes.

The silence in the kitchen became unbearable for Sam. He backed away from John and headed for the door. “I don’t feel very well. I’m going upstairs.”

The expression on John’s face morphed into one of complete control once more. “I’ll bring up some tea for you later.”

By the time that John was back at the stove, Sam was already hurtling out of the room with the mail clutched in his hands. He all but ran across the foyer and jogged up the stairs.

~~~~~~~


	4. Chapter 4

Sam peered out the bedroom window and watched as Dean worked on the clay extractor. It would be a long time before Dean was back inside; he might make an appearance around dinner time.

When Sam stepped away from the window, his gaze settled on the letters from the Depot. He took a seat, picked up the first letter and opened it. The name on the front read Anna. It was a simple letter, expressing how much Anna was missed by her family. They were concerned because they hadn’t heard from her in entirely too long. The rest of the letter was full of news from the family. Sam checked the envelope, and the letter had come from _New York_.

The second letter _was_ from Carver and just like Sam had thought, it contained forms he needed to sign and return to release the rest of his funds to Dean.

Sam tossed the forms down on the table and picked up the last envelope. It was another personal letter, but this one was addressed to Amelia. The general tone of the letter was the same as the first one Sam had read. Whoever Amelia might be, there was a family out in the world who was very concerned about her.. She’d been gone far longer than Anna, though. The letter was shorter and Sam refolded it to put it away again. The letter was postmarked _Jamestown_.

It seemed too big of a coincidence for _two_ letters to have arrived at the wrong address. Both women must have lived at Winchester Hall at some point. It seemed strange that neither Dean nor his father had mentioned them; _quite_ strange.

For a while, Sam sat and stared at the letters. He chewed on his thumbnail as he wondered about the people who had written the letters. What must they think about the silence of their loved ones? Surely, their lives would be consumed with worry. The thought of the women’s families steeled Sam’s resolve.

He stood and headed straight out of the room and along the corridor. He yanked the elevator door open, slammed it shut behind him then set the car into motion towards the mines. He wanted to see what else was in the trunk.

When the elevator arrived at its destination, Sam was pleasantly surprised to see a little light coming in through some narrow windows high along the back wall. His visit would be more productive once he could see where he was going. He headed straight to the trunk and opened it up again. His fingers trailed over the row of dresses. Sam was no expert, but it looked as though the first half of the clothes were a far smaller size than the second half. _Anna_ and _Amelia_?

Sam searched through the items on the small shelf at the top of the trunk. There were a strange variety of personal items: a hair brush, some playing cards, a set of pearl earrings, and a small pile of recipes tied with a ribbon. Unfortunately, there was nothing that gave Sam any clue who the women were.

Frustrated, Sam closed the trunk back up and returned to the elevator. The clay was slippery underfoot, and he almost fell as he stepped back into the elevator car. He pushed the lever quickly to send the car to the second floor and leaned back against the back wall.

When the elevator passed the foyer, Sam saw movement in the corridor leading out of the kitchen. _John_.

Sam slid into the back corner of the elevator’s cage to stay out of John’s line of sight. He might not have found out about anything of any great import but he didn’t want John knowing he was down in the mines. If he were to be honest, Sam didn’t want John to know anything about him or what he might be thinking.

When Sam bent down to peer through the bars, he could see that John was headed for the stair case at a fast pace. He was moving far quicker than if he were heading upstairs to speak with Sam. He was trying to _catch_ Sam returning from the mines.

Sam’s heart pounded like crazy. He stepped up to the gate, ready to fling it open at the first possible moment. And that was exactly what he did.

The instant the elevator lurched to a stop, Sam shot out and raced down the corridor towards the bedroom. He skidded to a halt as he passed through the bedroom door, spun around to close it and darted over to the chair he usually sat in. But, the moment he sat down, he realized there was red clay along the sides of his boots.

John’s heavy footfalls were moving quickly down the corridor towards the bedroom.

Leaping up from the chair, Sam frantically pulled at the fastenings on his boots. When he finally kicked them off, he pushed them under the bed and sank back down into the chair. He rested his head on his hand and did his best to calm his breathing.

The door swung open quickly and John nodded at Sam. “I thought I heard the elevator. I was… worried about you.” He closed the door behind him.

Trying to look as though he wasn’t feeling at all well, Sam blinked slowly when he looked up at his father-in-law. “Really? I didn’t hear it and I’ve been here since I left the kitchen.”

John lifted his eyebrows and smoothed his hand down the front of his white shirt. He walked over to where Sam was sitting and leaned down to press the backs of his fingers to Sam's forehead. “You’re clammy. I will bring up tea later as I said, perhaps something to eat.”

Sam shook his head, he didn’t want the tea, but it was also an excuse to shake away John’s touch. “My stomach is unsettled, nothing thank you.”

The bedroom door was flung open again and Dean burst into the room. “Sam! I couldn't wait to tell you. It works! The part was perfect! We did it!”

John rounded on Dean and glared at him. “Couldn't wait to tell, _Sam_? You and I did this, Dean. You and _I_.”

Sam had sensed a thinly veiled hostility from John before but the outburst shocked him. His eyes widened, and he stared over at his husband wondering what kind of response Dean would come up with.

Dean’s jaw was clenched for a while and the smile faded from his face. “We did, Father. But, _Sam’s_ money has been helping us to make this progress.”

John scoffed and headed back towards the door. His shoulder clipped Dean’s, and he growled something inaudible into Dean’s ear. Whatever he said made the color drain from Dean’s face.

John left abruptly and slammed the door behind him.

Dean slid his hands into his trouser pockets and looked down at the carpet under his boots.

“The extractor works,” Sam said with a sad smile on his face. 

Dean smiled weakly. “It does.”

“That’s good.”

The distant gaze took Dean away again, and he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Dean?” The dynamic between Dean and John was a mystery to Sam. It wasn’t like any father/son relationship Sam had ever seen. But then, the Winchesters had been isolated for so much time and their lives appeared to have been far from easy.

“I’m sorry, Sam. My father. He’s used to it being just the two of us,” Dean whispered. There was a pink tinge on his cheeks and he looked a little flustered.

“It’s fine.” Sam didn’t understand John’s animosity towards him but he felt certain it wasn’t Dean’s fault.

“It’s not fine,” Dean said sharply. He strode over to Sam and took a knee in front of the chair. “You didn’t deserve that. You’ve given up everything to move here, your entire life has changed.”

“Well, you’re not responsible for that,” Sam said. He ran his thumb along the hard line of Dean’s jaw.

Looking as though he remained unconvinced, Dean closed his eyes for a few moments then covered Sam’s hand with his own. “How are you feeling today, Sam? I never asked you.”

Allowing the subject change, Sam smiled. “I feel better after some time away. Strange but not surprising I suppose.”

Dean nodded then glanced around the room as though he was looking for something. “I should go back out and help Gabriel shut everything down. Will you be all right?”

“I will,” Sam assured his husband. “Go ahead.”

Dean leaned over as he stood and caught Sam’s bottom lip between both of his. “I love kissing you,” he said as he withdrew.

Sam _definitely_ loved it too.

~~~~~~~

The conversation at dinner was stilted. Sam tried to engage John but the elder Winchester seemed uninterested. Dean’s mood wasn’t much better. There was a dark cloud hanging over him and he didn’t seem to be speaking to his father. It was a far from pleasant evening.

Sam stayed long enough to down a cup of the bitter tea John made after dinner and then he fled to the bedroom. As he climbed the stairs, he could hear raised voices in the dining room. It didn’t surprise him terribly because the tension between the two Winchesters had been palpable throughout dinner.

Rather than trying to make out the words, Sam just hurried up the stairs and headed into the bedroom.

By the time he reached the bed, his stomach was cramping painfully. He sank down onto the edge of the mattress and leaned forward. He’d been feeling better since he and Dean had spent the night at the Depot but whatever ailed him seemed to return with a vengeance.

Frustrated, Sam kicked off his boots and unbuttoned his trousers. He couldn't wait to get into his soft sleeping pants and his oldest shirt. He wanted comfort.

From the tone of the argument Sam had overheard downstairs, it did not sound as though it would end soon. He probably wouldn’t be able to stay awake until Dean retired.

Sam was exhausted. It had been a long day and ending it with a resurgence of stomach pain was horrible. He resolved to tell Dean that he needed to see a Doctor once there was a break in the weather.

Almost as though the storm could read Sam’s mind, a particularly strong wind rattled the closest window. Sam folded his arms across his stomach and shivered. He was tired of being cold.

When he could summon the energy, Sam changed into his sleeping pants and his favorite shirt. He crawled under the covers and curled around his aching stomach. Even with the nagging pain, it only took a few minutes for him to fall into the sweet oblivion of sleep.

~~~~~~~

A nightmare shook Sam awake in the middle of the night. There was a storm raging outside and he could feel how cold the air was in the bedroom.

Sam reached out to the side but Dean wasn’t in bed. Sam reached over to pull a warm pair of socks from his nightstand drawer and leaned down to pull them over his frozen feet.

He sat and listened for a while, but could hear no sound over the powerful storm outside.

Sam rubbed a hand over his stomach. It still throbbed, and he was getting worried. He’d never been ill so much in his life; there was definitely something wrong.

There was sweat beading on Sam’s forehead; he had a fever. And, the nagging itch in his throat was back. Sam fought the urge to cough even though he could already taste the coppery flavor of the blood.

Wide awake, he thought about the letters for Anna and Amelia. If only they could tell him their stories.

Sam sat up so quickly that it made his stomach cramp intensely. He’d remembered the gramophone; there were still wax cylinders for him to listen to.

When he swung his legs out of bed, the cold air was shocking. But Sam just kept moving. He crept down the long corridor to the storage cupboard where he had found the gramophone and pulled it out again. He headed over to set it up on the small table.

There were three wax cylinders and Sam picked one at random. He slipped it into the gramophone and turned the crank enough to get it started. At first, only static and hissing was produced by the small speaker.

Then, Sam heard a woman’s voice. “Well,” she began. “Here’s the new gramophone and my very first recording. My name is Anna and I’m here with Dean. Say something, Dean.”

There was the sound of movement and then someone cleared their throat. “What do you want me to say?”

It was definitely Dean’s voice; _Sam’s_ Dean.

There was light laughter before Anna spoke again. “Anything you like. Something you’d like to be remembered by?”

“I don’t really have anything to say,” Dean answered on the recording.

There was a loud burst of static and then a click. “I know; tell everyone how much you love me,” Anna’s voice ordered playfully.

“Everyone?”

“Anyone who listens to this,” Anna answered.

For a while, the banter on the recording didn’t register in Sam’s mind. He was too focused on what Anna had said. _Tell everyone how much you love me._

It seemed Sam had finally gotten to the bottom of one mystery only to find out he didn’t like it. It wasn’t that he had thought Dean had no other love interests in his life prior to Sam but it was a little surprising to find out it was a woman.

When Sam’s focus returned to the recording, Anna was still trying to persuade Dean to say something.

Dean finally succumbed to Ann’s requests and recited a poem. 

“Death waits at the door.  
See! Our friends are all forsaken.  
The wine and the merrymaking.  
We are call’d - we must go.  
Laid low, very low,  
In the dark we must lie.”

The recitation was followed by silence and Sam murmured, “Tennyson.”

“That was _dreadful_ ,” Anna exclaimed on the recording.

“Dreadful? That was _Tennyson_ ,” Dean answered.

The conversation seemed to stall and Sam reached out to change the cylinder.

The second cylinder was a different woman’s voice, possibly Amelia. Her voice was lower, her temperament much darker. Sam leaned closer and wiped the sweat from his brow.

“It’s miserable here at _Crimson Peak_ ,” the woman began. “It’s bitterly cold and I’m certain the wind blows through the walls.

I Found this gramophone in a cupboard and hope to entertain myself. The days here _do_ drag on and I find I don’t feel well at night. Oddly enough, the tea John insists on me drinking never seems to make me feel any better. Besides that, it tastes awful.”

Sam pulled the cylinder out and put in the final one.

At first, there was nothing coming from the speaker but rustling sounds and possibly the sounds of someone crying. Sam leaned in closer to the speaker and rested his elbows on the table. His joints were aching terribly.

“I’ve been ill for days,” came a whisper from Anna. “I feel certain of my fate. I will die before I am allowed the comfort of a physician’s care.”

The recording was stopped and there was silence for quite a while. Then another recording session was started.

“If you find this, if someone ever finds it, _please_ take my body home.”

Sam’s heart skipped around in his chest as panic rose in his chest. He wasn’t sure if he were trembling in fear or shivering due to the fever that was ravaging his body. He tried to swallow but his throat felt too tight and everything around him was spinning.

“If you’re hearing this and living in this _wretched_ place,” Anna said. “If you can, you must leave. Escape. And if it’s too late and you can’t then you must _never_ , _ever_ drink the tea. The _poison_ is in the tea.”

Sam struggled to his feet and backed away from the gramophone slowly. But the voice of the dying woman continued as Sam got further away. “He’s been poisoning me and I’m dying. Please find a way to tell my family.”

The fever was moving like wildfire through Sam’s body. He could feel that his shirt was soaked through with sweat at the small of his back. He stumbled as he turned to head back to the stairs.

He _must_ get out of Winchester Hall. Somehow, he had to find a way to get through the storm to the Depot. The horses that pulled the carriage would be out back in the stable. Surely, if Sam could get to one he could ride to town.

The staircase looked like it went on forever when Sam finally reached the top of it. He slipped off the first step and grabbed the banister to pull himself upright.

It was all Sam could do to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Fear and adrenaline were all that was keeping him on his feet. 

With his vision swimming, it felt as though it took an entire lifetime to get down to the foyer. Sam could hear the wind railing against the doors. The entire building seemed to sway and Sam staggered to the side as he let go of the banister.

The copper door handles were cold in Sam’s hands and he yanked as hard as he could. The doors rattled and then Sam finally got them open. He threw his arms wide to fling the doors open and fell forward into the cold whirl of snowy air.

The snow whipped against Sam’s face and felt like needles piercing his skin. He threw an arm over his face and stumbled a few steps forward into the huge drift of snow that had built up.

Wet, cold, and pain were all that Sam could feel. His heart strained to push the blood through his veins and he was trembling so much that he couldn't even walk.

With the last of his energy, Sam stumbled back into Winchester Hall. Even as he retreated from the storm, it continued to rage in his mind. Darkness closed in on him and he felt himself trip on the bottom step.

He didn’t feel himself _hit_ the staircase.

~~~~~~~

Sam remembered seeing Dean’s face, his green eyes filled with concern. He remembered shivering and feeling a cool cloth on his forehead.

There were many hours of nothingness.

When Sam finally opened his eyes and could make sense of what he was seeing, it was to find John at his bedside.

“You’ve decided to return to us,” John said evenly.

Sam blinked a few times and then winced when he swallowed.

“Sore throat?” John asked. He leaned over to pick up a teacup and held it up to Sam’s lips.

Sam shook his head and lifted his hand to push the cup away. “Dean.”

John sighed dismissively and put the teacup down. He picked up a bowl and held a spoon to Sam’s lips.

“You must, at least, eat, Sam. _If_ you want to get well.”

Sam parted his lips enough to receive a spoonful of, what tasted like, oatmeal. There was too much treacle in it but Sam chewed and swallowed.

John scraped the spoon against the edge of the bowl and then held it to Sam’s lips once more. “Once, when Mary was ill, I took care of her just like this. I cared for her through fierce fevers and shivers. I bathed her and fed her, took care of her every need.”

Another mouthful of oatmeal made Sam feel like choking. The expression on John’s face was almost blank, and it was the most terrifying thing that Sam had ever seen.

“Don’t worry, Sam. You won’t be in the bed for very much longer.” John smiled darkly as he held more oatmeal to Sam’s lips.

Sam turned his head away. “Need to see a Doctor.”

“We are _quite_ snowed in, Sam. We won’t be able to leave for some time I would imagine,” John said flatly. “But don’t worry, Sam. I’ll -”

The door to the bedroom burst open and Dean came in pushing the old wheelchair Sam had seen in the nursery.

John set the spoon and bowl down with a clunk and turned towards his son.

“ _Father_ , I would like some time alone with my husband,” Dean said firmly.

When John turned back to Sam, there was a wide smile on his face. He leaned down close to Sam’s face, a hand on either side of Sam’s shoulders. “You _will_ be out of this bed _very_ soon, Sam.”

The bed shook when John stood and Sam watched the elder Winchester as he strode from the room.

Dean only waited a couple of moments before grabbing the handles of the wheelchair. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here, Sam.”

There was a lot that Sam didn’t understand, but the look on Dean’s face made it clear how concerned he was.

The rattan wheelchair creaked as Dean rolled it to the bottom of the bed. He sat down at Sam’s side and gently took his hand.

“I’m so sorry. I should have made sure I was here when you awoke. I wanted the wheelchair to help you to get around.” Dean’s eyes were red-rimmed and there were dark half-moons under them. He looked exhausted.

“Dean.” Sam’s voice was raspy and low. “I need to see a Doctor.” It was the one thing that Sam knew. Something was wrong and Sam knew he needed help.

“The storm is still terrible, Sam.” Dean looked around quickly and then he leaned in close enough to whisper in Sam’s ear, “Don’t drink the tea, Sam _ever_.”

Sam shivered and knew it wasn’t from the fever. Dean _knew_ about the poison.

For the first time, Sam could feel doubt nagging at him. Dean _knew_. He shifted on the bed and tried to move away from Dean.

For the briefest moment, Dean looked confused and then his eyes widened in surprise. “No. _No_. Sam. No, I just - look, I don’t have time to explain. You have to trust me for a little longer. _Please._ ”

There was something frantic in Dean’s demeanor, something… _believable._

The heat of tears trailed down Sam’s cheeks and he nodded slowly.

Relief was written all over Daen’ face and he let out a breath he’d been holding. He squeezed Sam’s hand tightly and smiled shakily.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can, Sam. I need to try to ... speak with my Father,” Dean said softly.

“No,” Sam blurted. Not only did he _not_ want to be alone, he didn’t want Dean to spend any time alone with his father.

Dean’s smile warmed but his eyes were filled with sadness. “It’s all right, Sam. I promise. Just rest.” Dean reached up and swept Sam's hair back from his forehead.

There was no way for Sam to know what Dean was about to do but there was little he could help with. He hardly had the strength to speak, let alone help his husband.

“Please, rest,” Dean whispered. He pressed his lips to the corner of Sam’s mouth then rested their foreheads together for a few breaths.

Then, Dean was gone.

Try as he might, Sam couldn’t stay awake. The heat of fever was teasing him again and his eyes were watering. Or, perhaps he was still crying.

Sam clasped his hands together and turned his wedding ring around his finger slowly. He closed his eyes and turned his head away from the door. He didn’t want to stare at it and wait for Dean to come back through it.

It was entirely too long before Sam fell asleep and he was plagued by dreams of John Winchester’s smile.

~~~~~~~

It was the middle of the night and Sam’s forehead was pressed to the cool porcelain wash basin in the bathroom. There was blood spattered across the bright, white surface and Sam was scared.

The storm was still shaking the bones of Winchester Hall and the sound of it was grating on Sam’s nerves. The rattling and howling wind were constant enough that Sam’s head was throbbing.

He coughed again and wiped his handkerchief across his mouth. The embroidered cloth came away spotted with blood. He had drunk no more of the tea John had made but he felt worse than he had before the night they’d spent at the Depot.

Anna’s words were still rattling around in Sam’s mind. _Poison_. Poison in the tea. Sam did not understand what he could have done to warrant such treatment.

Sam leaned back in the wheelchair and sighed. He hadn’t wanted to use it but he’d felt so ill it had seemed to be a good decision.

It had been a struggle to get the chair moving at first but it was better than trying to walk on weak legs.

Sam rolled the creaking chair back into the bedroom, hesitated for a few moments and then looked over at the bed.

Dean hadn’t returned to the bedroom yet. Naturally, Sam was worried, but he wasn’t sure what to do. There were still rooms Sam hadn’t even seen, and he was in no shape to search for anyone.

But, he loved Dean.

Sam wheeled himself towards the bedroom door and struggled to pull it open. There was no sign of anyone in the long corridor. Even though Sam’s arms felt like they were made of lead, he got the chair going forwards.

The hallway was so cold that Sam’s breath was a misty plume in front of him. It was all he could do to keep moving forwards.

As Sam rounded the corner at the top of the stairs, he felt the temperature grow even colder. It was almost unbearable.

Sam’s hands were shaking so badly he was having trouble rolling the chair forwards.

There was a strange sound coming from the top of the stairs case. It sounded like a woman crying. The chair became entangled with some long threads that were pulling away from the carpet and Sam growled in frustration.

He reached out for the banister and hauled himself up to his feet. He leaned forward and tried to get his eyes to focus on the shape that was appearing in the cold air high above the foyer.

“I - I know who you are,” Sam called out. He’d never even seen a photo of Anna, yet he felt certain of her presence. “Anna, I know it’s you. Tell me what you need to say,” Sam said more softly. His head was throbbing, and he brushed the damp hair out of his eyes.

The sobs from the apparition seemed to surround Sam. It was as though the cries were snaking into Sam’s mind. “Anna, please. Help me.”

As Sam’s weary eyes stared up at the presence, he saw a face more clearly. His eyes were drawn to the long, tendrils of black hair that writhed and twisted around Anna’s head.

She floated there, a half-formed being of all black and pointed down the corridor opposite Sam.

Music reached Sam’s ears, and he shook his head slowly. The pounding in his head felt like nails being driven into his skull.

After a last glance back at Anna, Sam stumbled towards the strange wisps of music that rose above the sound of the storm.

A cloud of moths peeled off the wall as Sam bumped into it. He waved his hand weakly when some of them caught in his hair.

There was a beautiful voice gliding high above the symphony Sam could hear. It was a recording. A _recording_.

Sam’s straining heart fluttered as it tried to beat faster. A recording just like the one Anna had made.

One foot in front of the other, Sam followed the gentle sounds of the music and bell-like voice. It was beautiful but sad and eerie.

The walls were in such a state of disrepair that Sam felt as though he might fall through when he leaned against it. But, he couldn't even stand unsupported.

He half slid down the corridor as he followed the music. There was a door at the end of the hall with light creeping out from under it.

Sam sucked in a ragged breath and pushed the door open.

Heat from the room blossomed out as the door swung open and Sam was almost knocked back by a sudden increase in the volume of the music.

His eyes were burning, and he could feel sweat trickling down the back of his neck. At first, he could only make out shapes, colors, and the scent of incense. It was all a little overwhelming and Sam leaned against the door frame so he could rub at his eyes. They felt almost bruised, and he blinked slowly to focus.

The scene that unfolded in front of Sam came to him in bits and pieces. The fever gave everything a strange lightness, almost ethereal.

The room was full of rich colors. There was an Egyptian red quilt that matched thick window coverings. The floor was a patchwork of carpets, the walls a mosaic of book spines.

In the middle of the room, there was a huge four poster bed, and it was draped with sky-blue gauze.

Sam’s mind tried to make sense of what he was seeing as he took a step further into the room and tried to wipe the stinging sweat from his eyes.

John was leaning back against one of the bed posts. His white shirt was open and hung loosely from his broad shoulders. One of his booted feet was on the floor, the other on the bed.

The rest of the tableau made Sam’s stomach turn. There was a young man seated in the V of John’s legs. His trousers were open, his shirt unbuttoned and untucked.

John’s hand was buried in the front of the young man’s trousers, a moving shape under the material.

The young man was… _Dean_..

Sam closed his eyes against the horror that unfolded in front of him. But, when he blinked his eyes open again, nothing had changed.

Dean’s brow was furrowed, his cheeks ruddy and his lips were pressed into a hard line. HIs eyes were shut so tightly there were small wrinkles at the corners.

Dean’s hand was pressed against John’s chest as though he was trying to push his father away. His other hand gripped the quilt so tightly that his knuckles were completely white.

Sam couldn’t breathe. His chest was so tight it felt like his ribs would crack. He closed his eyes once more, willing everything to change, to somehow make sense of what was happening in the overheated room.

Finally, Dean’s eyes open and his long lashes fluttered until his gaze settled on Sam. His entire body tensed in a fraction of a second and sadness filled his eyes.

Sam stumbled back a step. All of his instincts told him to get out, to get away. He banged against the door frame and his breath rushed from his lungs. 

The moment John realized that Sam was in the room… he smiled. He leaned in closer to Dean and pressed a kiss to his son’s bare shoulder.

Bile rose in Sam’s throat and he coughed as he stepped back out of the door.

The relative cool of the corridor felt good on Sam’s feverish skin. He struggled towards the end of the corridor with no idea where he was going. He only knew that he wanted to get away from the horrific scene in the bedroom. He had never expected to see something so heartbreaking. Who could have expected what was happening in that room?

There were footsteps behind Sam and he could feel the burn of tears behind his eyes.

“Now everything’s out in the open, Sam,” John called out.

It was unbearable to Sam that he might have to listen to an explanation. He wanted to be gone from Winchester Hall and from the two people he’d learned to think of as family.

“What a relief,” John said as he caught up to Sam.

When Sam stumbled out of the corridor, he ran straight into the banister and moved along it as quickly as he could. He could feel the fever closing in on him.

“I’m glad it’s all out in the open,” John said. “It’s been ridiculous having to hide who we really are.”

“I knew something was wrong,” Sam said as he bumped into the banister again. There was a pile of snow building down on the foyer floor. He leaned heavily on the banister and tried to will himself away. “You’re not his father.”

“Father! Please don - No! There’s someone at the door,” Dean called from the opposite landing.

Sam tried to look down at the door but he wasn’t sure what Dean was talking about. No one was at the door in the storm, no one was coming to help him.

John snatched up Sam’s hand and wrenched off his wedding ring leaving a painful wound.   
With his free hand, John fisted Sam’s shirt and pulled him in close. “That’s the wonderful thing, Sam. I _am_ his father.”

A strong shove from John sent Sam crashing back against the banister… and through it.

“Sam!!” Dean sounded as though he were miles away.

All of Sam’s limbs flailed for a moment and then he no longer had the energy to fight and let himself fall. The darkness of the fever took over, and he lost consciousness.

~~~~~~~

When Sam regained consciousness, he was confused. Around him, he could hear voices, some more familiar than others. His limbs felt like lead weights and he was adrift in a rough sea for a while. As things settled, he blinked his eyes a few times.

 _Cas_.

Convinced he was hallucinating, Sam reached a weary hand up to curl over Cas’ shoulder. His old friend was smiling and leaning down over the chair Sam was lying in.  
“Hello, Sam. Try to stay still for a little while. You’ve had a fall, and I had to sedate you to set your leg.”

 _A broken leg._ Sam’s mind spun, and he struggled to get up. He could see a wooden splint on his leg, crude but it held his shin relatively straight. When he leaned to the side, he could see the Winchesters standing behind Cas. John looked as well put together as always, his hair was neatly swept back, his clothes immaculate. With his hands clasped behind his back and a cold smile, John looked every bit the Manor gentleman.

Dean looked as though he had come straight from the bedroom. His hair was tousled, his shirt was half buttoned and done so incorrectly. His shirt tails hung out and his hands were trembling at his sides. Dean’s head was bowed as though he couldn’t bear to look at his husband.

“Forgive me for dropping in unannounced,” Cas said as he smoothed Sam’s hair back from his forehead.

“Well,” John answered. “As it turns out it, was a miracle. Sam has been so ill he’s been hallucinating. My son and I had no idea what to do for him.”

Sam’s eyes widened as he tried to get his throat to work. He had to warn Cas. “She spoke to me.”

“Who spoke to you, Sam?” Cas’ brow was furrowed above his puzzled smile.

“My mother. She tried to warn me. Crimson Peak.” Sam was frustrated. He couldn’t think properly and his throat was aching.

Tilting his head to the side, Cas took Sam’s left hand in both of his. As his thumb ran over Sam’s hand he touched the wound made by the ring and looked down. 

“You see what we’ve been struggling with,” John said.

Cas nodded and turned to pick up a teacup from a tray on the closest table. He brought the edge of the fine china to Sam’s lips.

Sam shook his head slightly and pushed the cup away weakly. “Not that. Never that.”

The furrows in Cas’ brow deepened and his eyes narrowed.

John took a step closer and touched Cas’ arm. “You’ll stay with us, won’t you? At least until the storm passes.” The light made the stone on John’s ring glint and Sam was sure he saw Cas cast a glance in its direction.

“I would be glad to,” Cas said evenly. “But first, I need to give Sam a thorough examination.”

“We’ll give you the room,” John said. He strode towards the door.

For a few seconds, Dean looked as though he would protest.

“Dean.” There was a stern edge to John’s voice and Dean spun to follow his father.

The instant the door closed behind the Winchesters Cas leaned down closer. “I’m going to take you away from here, Sam.”

“Yes,” Sam whispered. Relief flooded over him like warmth from a fire.

“I need you to stand up, Sam. I can’t carry you,” Cas said as he pulled Sam’s arm over his shoulders. “I won’t let them hurt you anymore, Sam,” Cas murmured as he led them towards the door.

Each step was excruciating but Sam did what he could. He leaned heavily on Cas and limped his way out of the piano room and down the corridor to the foyer. As they passed through the snow that was now scattered all over the floor, Sam felt the cold of it against his bare feet.

When they reached the bottom of the staircase, Cas leaned Sam against the banister. “I need to get your coat and boots.”

Certain it was a bad idea for them to separate, Sam curled his hand over Cas’ cheek. “No, stay.”

“Well, isn't this a touching sight?” John’s voice was unmistakable and Sam cringed as Cas turned to look over his shoulder.

“I need to take Sam to a hospital now,” Cas said firmly. “He’s very ill. He’s clearly exhausted, and he’s also showing signs of anemia. He needs more medical attention than I can provide here so we need to leave.”

“That won’t be happening,” John said evenly. His hands were still clasped behind his back but there was a dark glint in his eyes that Sam hated.

As Sam clung to the banister he watched Cas look over at Dean. But Dean said nothing, he stood there, his hands trembling slightly at his sides as he stared at his father.

When Cas looked back at John Winchester, both men squared their shoulders.

“Oh, it will happen,” Cas said firmly. “You’ve been poisoning Sam.”

Sam’s eyes widened.

Dean locked gazes with Cas for a few moments and his shoulders slumped. He looked almost relieved.

“Here, Sam.” Cas pulled a folded newspaper clipping from his trouser pocket and handed it over to Sam. “Front page of the Courier,” Cas continued. “Lady Mary Winchester was murdered in the bathtub. She was killed with a cleaver to the head.”

Dean’s brow furrowed, and he stared at Cas for a while and then turned to gaze at his father. “What?”

John Winchester said nothing, but his lips curved into a wry smile.

With shaking fingers, Sam opened the newspaper clipping. Just as Cas said, it was a story about Mary Winchester. She had been found in a bathtub full of bloody water with her head nearly split in two from a single blow.

Cas walked over to Dean. “There was no suspect arrested. And there was no one in the house with Lady Mary except for her son.”

Ice ran through Sam’s veins. The idea of Mary suffering such a horrifying death was frightening enough but then to hear that only Dean was witness to it. There were implications there that Sam wasn’t sure he could live with.

“You did this?” Sam asked Dean. His heart couldn’t bear any more pain.

“No!” Dean said and tried to walk towards Sam.

Cas stopped him with a hand against his chest. “Dean. No. You were only four years old. There was a brief investigation and then you were sent away to boarding school for a few years.”

Slowly, Cas turned to face John. “As for you, things are a little less clear where you’re concerned. It seems that you were _indisposed_ in Switzerland for a long time following your wife’s death. You claimed not to be here although I tracked down some travel documents that say otherwise.”

Sam looked up as Cas turned back to face him. He let the newspaper clipping fall from his fingers.

“Sam, Dean is already married to someone else,” Cas said softly.

Realization dawned on Sam. “Anna? Amelia?”

But Dean was already shaking his head. “Sam, you don’t know what-”

Cas held up his hand again as Dean stepped forward. “Sam and I are leaving.”

Trying to look anywhere but at Dean, Sam focussed his gaze on the huge wooden doors. He slipped his arm around Cas’ waist and held on tightly; he needed all the help he could get to walk. Cas kept one hand up towards the Winchesters as though to ward them off.

There was a flurry of movement beside them and Sam saw John’s arm fly upwards in a smooth arc. He felt Cas stumble and as he turned he could see there was a knife embedded in Cas’ chest just under his arm.

Eyes wide, Cas stared at John and stumbled a few steps forward. Barely keeping his feet, Cas kept walking towards the doors and yanked them open wide. Snow whirled around him and he turned back to the foyer and stared at John while his fingers curled around the knife and yanked it out. Blood shot from the wound and Sam saw it stain the snow red as the knife clattered against the stone step. Cas let go of Sam and fell down the steps.

“ _You_ stay here,” John growled as he grabbed Sam’s shoulders. He spun Sam and slammed him down on a small chair against the wall. Then he turned as he bent to snatch up the knife from the top step. He pressed the knife into Dean’s hand and shoved his son towards Cas. “You should _finally_ take action. _You_ deal with him and get some blood on your hands.”

The snow-covered steps were slippery and Dean stumbled down them until he was standing face to face with Cas.

John strode across the foyer and sank down in one of the overstuffed chairs on the far wall. He crossed his legs and clasped his hands in his lap as he watched his son.

Dean leaned in close to Cas and Sam strained to hear what he was saying.

“If I don’t do this, my father will,” Dean said. “You’re a Doctor, Cas. Show me where.”

Every fiber of Sam’s being was fraught with fear. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Dean was going to stab Cas, but he would also try and save him. The world was going completely mad.

Understanding appeared slowly in Cas’ gaze and he curled his fingers over Dean’s hand and moved the point of the blade to his lower right abdomen.

Dean nodded almost imperceptibly then jammed the blade forward. Cas cried out and his knees buckled immediately. He fell into Dean’s arms and was lowered to the snowy ground slowly.

“No!” Sam cried out. He tried to stand so he could get to Cas but his legs wouldn’t hold him. As he sank to his knees a sharp jolt of white-hot pain flashed through his body and he doubled over. The splint had shifted and it was a sharp knife of pain stabbing into him. He could feel tears streaking down his cheeks as he turned his gaze up to Dean’s face.

Dean was pale and trembling, his hand still clutching the bloody knife. After he stood frighteningly still for a long time, Dean stepped over Cas’ outstretched legs and moved towards his father.

It took a while for Sam to realize that the sound he could hear at the edges of his awareness was John Winchester… applauding.

“It’s about time you showed you were _my_ son, Dean.” John stood and walked over to where Sam was sobbing on the floor. “I believe you and I have paperwork to take care of before I can be rid of you, Sam. And Dean? Get rid of the body.”

~~~~~~~


	5. Chapter 5

John was stronger than he looked. He half-dragged, half-carried Sam across the foyer into a small office just past the elevator.

All the times Sam had walked through Winchester Hall and he had never noticed the dark wooden door John had taken him through.

It looked as though John spent a lot of time in the office. There were comfortable chairs, a writing desk, and a stove. The walls were covered in paintings and there was the ever-present collection of books.

The warmth made Sam feel light-headed, and he sank back into the chair John had shoved him into. As he watched, John opened the heavy metal door on the oven and tossed pages of Sam’s writing in a page at a time. “You are a dreadful writer, Sam. I don’t know what you were thinking. In particular, the romance was… lacking.”

Nothing that John said was at all surprising to Sam. He was beyond caring, resigned to the fact that no one was left to help him. He felt a twinge of regret as Cas’ face came to mind and felt more tears trailing down his cheeks.

“What are you waiting for, Sam? Sign the damned paper. You can’t possibly think that you have any reason to stay alive now.”

What Sam wanted was to know what had happened in Winchester Hall. “Why did you kill your wife?”

There was a warm smile on John’s face. “Dean was a beautiful young man. We spent a lot of time together. As he grew older, Mary became concerned about how much time we spent alone together.” Paper after paper went into the fire and John’s gaze seemed distant.

“Eventually, she became curious about what we were doing.” John chucked the rest of Sam’s writing in the stove and then closed the door. “Naturally, when she found out about us, she tried to take Dean away from me. We had to hide so we could be together. The only love he’s known is between the two of us.”

“That’s not true,” Sam protested. “You’re ruining his life.”

John spun and slammed both fists down on the desk in front of Sam. “Sign the papers!” John yelled.

“You’re a monster,” Sam hissed.

“That’s funny,” John answered more evenly. “That was the last thing Mary said as well.”

“What about Amelia and Anna?” Sam asked as he slid his hand along the surface of the desk so he could curl his fingers around the fountain pen.

John brushed some ashes from his vest. “They were my idea. Dean’s sexual appetites were never for women. But, that meant they came with far fewer complications. Neither of them ever fucked my son.” John’s expression hardened.

“Dean didn’t know what you were doing, did he?” Sam asked. He was beginning to realize how deluded John was.

“He accepted Anna’s death as illness. She was frail, after all. Sadly, Amelia was more robust, so I had to _assist_ her with her exit.”

Sam knew that Dean would have been curious. Two deaths would have been too much of a coincidence.

“But, _you_ , Sam. You have complicated everything.” John smoothed one hand over his stubbled cheeks. “When he chose you, I should have put a stop to it immediately. He was too curious when you became ill, you were so healthy when you two met.” 

John turned and picked up a knife from the counter behind him. The blade glinted in the candlelight and John stared at it for a few moments.

There was a part of Sam that wondered how much Dean had found out. He may not have even hinted to his father that he knew what was happening. The thing was, none of it really mattered.

Sam picked up the pen and signed his name at the bottom of it. He no longer cared what happened to his money. But there was one thing Sam didn’t understand. “Why all the death? Was that for the mines? The house? Your name?”

“The death? The _horror_? That was for love, Sam. This is the thing you’ve never understood. This kind of love makes monsters of us all. It’s unending and drains us dry, leaves us always wanting more.”

Sam shook his head slowly and gripped the pen tightly in his fist. “Who killed my Uncle?”

There was a depraved smile on John’s face and he leaned down towards Sam. “What an arrogant man he was. But, he loved you, Sam. You should have seen the sadness in his eyes right before I smashed his skull into the sink.”

Anger reared up inside Sam and he tightened his grip on the pen. He looked up at John and as quickly as he could, swung the pen back and drove it forward. The nib of the pen pierced John’s shirt, skin and stabbed into his chest just below his collarbone.

The knife fell from John’s hand and clattered onto the desk as he staggered backward. He fell against the wall and slid down until he was sitting on the floor with his legs extended in front of him.

Sam snatched the knife up and pushed out of the chair. A burst of pain flared in Sam’s leg and he limped towards the elevator as fast as he could.

The sounds of the metal elevator gears filled the air and as Sam stopped in front of the arriving car, he saw Dean.

The door was flung open and Dean stepped out. He was covered in blood, Cas’ blood.

Sam stepped back and held the knife up in front of him. He had no idea who to trust. “Stay away from me!”

“Sam, let me explain.”

“No. You let him poison me,” Sam yelled.

“No, I didn’t.”

“You knew he killed Anna and Amelia.”

Dean shook his head. “No, I didn’t, Sam.”

“You killed Cas,” Sam said more quietly.

“No, Sam.”

“You said you loved me.”

“I do,” Dean said without hesitation. He raised his hands up as though he was showing Sam he was unarmed. “I love you _still_.”

All Sam could do was shake his head.

“Cas is still alive,” Dean said. “There’s not much time. You have to listen. I’ve taken him down to the mines, the two of you can get out through the front shaft. You can wait here for me or you can go to him now. I will destroy that contract.”

Dean held his hands up higher and skirted around Sam so he could head into his father’s office.

The knife in Sam’s hand was shaking as he turned slowly to keep it between himself and Dean. He didn’t know what to do. If Cas was still alive, then he would need Sam’s help to get away. But, Dean may have told him the truth about everything.

Finally, Sam limped back along the hallway towards the office and stopped just inside the doorway.

Sam watched as Dean grabbed the paper from the desk, headed straight to the stove, opened the door and tossed it in.

“You just burned our money,” John said from across the room.

“Listen to me, Father.”

“You _burned_ it,” John repeated.

“You don’t have to do this, Father. Sam will live. The papers are gone.”

Sam watched as John shook his head and took a step closer to his son.

“We can leave here, Father. We can go anywhere we want and start over. We can leave this awful place, we can even leave the Winchester name behind.”

John reached his son and grabbed hold of Dean’s forearms. “Dean?”

Dean smiled slightly and curled his fingers around his father forearms. “We don’t have to be here. We can go anywhere we want. We can all be together.”

The expression of curiosity fled from John’s face and he dropped his hands. “All? Do you actually love him?”

“Yes,” Dean said easily.

As weak as he felt, Sam stood a little straighter when he heard Dean’s answer.

“Do you love him more than me?” John asked in disbelief.

Dean nodded and shook his father gently. “This was inevitable. It always had to happen.”

For a while, John stared into his son’s eyes. At first, he looked as though he didn’t believe him. Moments later, he looked angry.

Sam was unprepared for what happened next.

From somewhere behind him, John produced a knife and slammed it into Dean’s chest.

There was a look of utter disbelief on Dean’s face. His trembling hand pressed to his chest just below the wound.

Sam gasped and stepped back from the horror of blood creeping across the front of Dean’s snow-white shirt.

As the red stain grew, Dean sank down into a chair and grasped the blade handle. He grimaced as he pulled the blade from his chest. Dean’s lashes fell to his cheeks, and he shuddered. The knife fell from his hand and his body went limp.

“No,” John murmured. “No. No. No.” He sank to his knees in front of his son and grabbed Dean’s arms to pull him down onto his lap. John circled his arms around Dean and cradled his head against his chest. 

“No.” Sam’s throat closed up so tightly he couldn’t swallow. He forced himself to step back once, twice and then his back hit the wall. It felt as though his heart had broken in two.

An inhuman cry burst from John as he held his son. The anguish of the sound made the hairs on the back of Sam’s neck rise.

As fast as he could limp, Sam headed towards the elevator. As soon as the gate clanked open, John looked up. “This is _your_ fault, Sam,” he called out.

Sam slammed the gate closed as he heard John scrambling to his feet. In a panic, Sam swung the lever to send the elevator car to the mines.

At the instant the car lurched into motion, John slammed into the closed gate. He let out an inhuman growl and bolted towards the stairs.

Panting, Sam gripped the knife as he willed the elevator to move faster. The cool, humid air of the mines wafted towards him. Sam’s eyes adjusted to the dim lighting quickly. As soon as the elevator stopped, he yanked the door open.

“Cas?”

“Over here,” Cas whispered.

Sam followed the sound of his friend’s voice and finally found him behind one of the huge vats of clay.

When he kneeled down, Sam fell onto his side. The pain in his leg was excruciating.

“Dean brought me here. Are you alright, Sam?” Cas lifted blood covered fingers to tuck Sam’s hair behind his ear so their eyes could meet.

Sam shook his head. There was nothing that was all right but he didn’t have the words to tell Cas what had happened.

“Hide back there,” Sam whispered. “I’ll come back for you.”

Footsteps echoed through the mine as John arrived at the bottom of the stairs. “Sam? Don’t waste my time. This will not end well for you no matter what you do.”

Sam gripped the knife he was holding even tighter and peered out from behind the vat.

“I have a surprise for you, Sam,” John said. He reached down and struggled to slide a huge stone slab to one side.

“It’s a little souvenir of Mary,” John said gleefully.

As Sam watched, John pulled a cloth bundle out from under the slab. When he unwrapped it, Sam saw a huge machete.

“Let’s get this over with,” John yelled.

Sam darted out from behind the vat and directly into John’s line of sight. Both men froze. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw Cas slip back into the shadows.

A dark smile crept onto John’s face. He feinted a motion towards Sam and his smile widened when Sam jumped.

Adrenaline punched into Sam and he spun and headed for the front shaft. Trying to ignore the pain pulsing in his leg, Sam climbed up the belt that moved the clay.

He could hear John running towards the shaft. His heart pounded as he struggled up the belt and out into the cold evening air.

As soon as Sam got to his feet, he limped as fast as he could towards the Clay Extractor. With the snow burning cold against his feet, he moved around behind the conveyor belt and pressed himself up against one of the ladders climbing up the machine.

Trying to breathe as quietly as he could, Sam strained to hear John reaching the top of the shaft and the crunch of his boots on the snow. He held his breath and rested the knife against the frozen metal of the machine.

John’s footfalls disappeared and Sam couldn’t make out which direction he had gone.

“Sam?” John’s voice was even and calm and came from the opposite side of the extractor.

Sam refixed his grip on the knife, took a deep breath and stepped out from behind the ladder. John was nowhere in sight. The snow whirled at Sam’s feet and he limped around the front of the Extractor with the knife held out in front of him. Fear was crawling through him and making him clench the knife so tightly his fingers were going numb. 

As sound behind Sam made him spin but all he saw was a shadow disappearing behind one of the small sheds outside. He backed up slowly, eyes wide and straining to make out movement until he ran into the hard metal of the Extractor once again. 

A small click behind him made Sam leap forward away from the machine. He heard the whoosh of something moving through the air and saw a few locks of his hair fly off to the side. When he stumbled around, he could see John reaching through the guts of the Extractor. He’d narrowly missed the back of Sam’s neck.

Knife held out, Sam hobbled around the end of the Extractor to find that John had disappeared again. He spun slowly, knife shaking in his hand as he looked for his father-in-law. The only thing that surrounded Sam was the dark of night and the swirling snow. The sound of wind roaring filled his ears, and he didn’t know where to look. Beneath his feet, there were blood-red footprints as the clay seeped into the snow.

There was another sound behind him and Sam limped towards it. As he rounded the back of the Extractor, the engine roared to life. Sam’s heart stopped for an instant and he continued around to the side where the controls were.

_Nothing._

Then John lurched around the machine with the machete held high above his head. As he swung it down, Sam got his arm up in time to block the blow. John grunted and Sam swung his arm up at the elbow to stab John. He felt resistance and glanced down to see that John had caught the blade of the knife in his hand.

Blood poured from John’s hand as he tightened his grip on the knife blade. His jaw was set, his eyes locked on Sam’s and he pulled on the blade slowly. 

Sam could _feel_ the blade moving through John’s fleshy palm, grating against the bones of his hand and then the knife was yanked out of his hand. Sam stumbled back and John swung the machete again. The sharp thick blade sliced across Sam’s forearm and the force of the blow sent him spinning before he sank to one knee.

There was a shovel in front of Sam, lying mostly buried in the snow. With sheer force of will, he managed to grab it and stand as he swung it around in front of him.

John widened his stance. Blood dripped constantly from his wounded left hand but he held the machete high as he stepped closer to Sam. “I won’t stop,” he growled. “I won’t stop until I kill you or you kill me, Sam.”

Sam’s heart felt as though it would explode. His blood was racing through his veins so quickly he felt light-headed and dizzy. There had to be someone who could help him. Sam thought of the warning his mother had tried to give him, the way Anna had led him down the hallway to where he began his journey to the truth. There _was_ someone left.

“Please help me,” Sam whispered.

John ventured close enough to clang the machete against the shovel. He let out a growl of frustration. “There’s no one left to help you, Sam.”

Sam’s eyes widened as the snow whirled into a funnel behind John Winchester. “Yes, there is. Look at her. Look behind you.”

John’s eyes widened and his lips parted slowly to mouth the word, “Her.”

He turned slowly, eyes on Sam until the last moment then staggered back a step.

In front of John, the snow had whirled into the dark form of Mary Winchester. Her once long, blonde hair swirled long and black around her head. Her eyes were dark, empty, and the wound was still visible where it cleaved her skull in two.

Sam heard John let out a gasp, and the machete slipped free of his fingers. “Mary.”

“John,” Sam called out.

As soon as John turned back towards Sam, he swung the shovel full force into the side of John’s head. His body folded to the ground at the impact but his hand still groped through the snow for the machete. He grabbed the weapon once more and struggled to look up at Sam. “I won’t stop until one of us is dead,” he said roughly.

Without the slightest hesitation, Sam swung the shovel straight down onto the crown of John’s head. There was a last puff of air from his father-in-law’s lips and then his body stilled.

“I heard you the first time,” Sam murmured. He let the shovel slide from his hands and looked up slowly.

The apparition in front of him morphed slowly. The white of the snow appeared once more beneath the black. Mary’s long hair lightened, and the wound seemed to disappear from her head. She smiled slightly and glided towards Sam effortlessly. She reached out and Sam felt a cold shiver pass down his body as she curved her palm against his cheek. Her smile broadened, her eyes warmed, and she leaned in to whisper in Sam’s ear. “He loves you.”

Surprised, Sam pulled back slightly and Mary’s apparition broke apart again. A strong gust of wind blew the snow into a whirl and she completely disappeared from Sam’s sight. The ache in Sam’s arm drew his attention, and he glanced down. Blood was soaking through his night shirt and he put pressure on the wound.

When he looked up, Sam could see something moving in the distance. He took a few steps towards Winchester Hall and squinted to keep the blowing snow from blinding him. There was a shape moving towards him. And as Sam watched, the shape became clearer. There were two men coming towards him through the snow, they were hanging on to each other, stumbling but still moving forward.

_Cas_. Cas was alive and his arm was over Dean’s shoulders as they struggled to make it out to him.

Finally, sapped of all his strength, Sam fell to his knees. Hot tears slid down his cheeks and dripped onto the red snow below him. The last thing to tickle Sam’s awareness was the sound of piano music filtering through the hissing storm.

~~~~~~~

The fall colors were vibrant and alive in the trees that lined the path up to the house.

Sam had arrived when the trees were blooming, he had walked along the path lined with summer leaves as he convalesced. Healed and healthy, Sam was facing Autumn.

He rubbed his fingers over his shirt sleeve. Even through the light blue cotton, he could feel the raised scar that stretched across his forearm. It was always there as a reminder of Winchester Hall.

“A penny for your thoughts.”

Sam smiled at the familiar voice behind him. “Thinking about how the seasons have changed since we moved here.”

“Autumn.”

“Do you miss it, Dean?” Sam turned and leaned back against the desk in front of the window.

“Miss what?” Dean walked closer and smiled.

“Winchester Hall,” Sam said. As he watched, the smile faded from Dean’s face.

“Never,” Dean answered deliberately. He lowered his gaze and shifted his weight slightly.

Blinking slowly, Sam smiled. “I walked to the end of the road and back today; no pain.”

When Dean looked up, his eyes seemed brighter. “Really? That’s wonderful news. Really wonderful.”

When they’d been found at Winchester Hall by a party of men sent from the Depot, Sam’s leg had been a mess. All three of them were a mess. It had taken a long time for each of them to heal.

Sometimes Sam wondered if the emotional scars would _ever_ be completely healed.

Their lives had all changed.

Dean stepped close enough to thread his fingers through Sam’s. “Cas will be thrilled when he comes to see you next week.”

A devoted friend, Cas had stayed with Sam and Dean until they were all back on their feet again. Then he had moved back into the town to open a new practice. It was a big enough town that there was room for a second Doctor. Cas would be kept busy.

Sam reached up and slid his hand over Dean’s shoulder. He loved the feel of Dean’s silk vest against his palm. “You were wearing a vest like this one the day I met you.”

Dean chuckled softly. “I believe I’m out of fashion these days.”

“Absolutely not, Mr. Winchester. You’re very dapper.” Sam laughed and pulled Dean into the circle of his arms.

“And _you_ , Mr. Winchester, are biased,” Dean answered.

Things hadn’t always gone so smoothly. For a while, Sam had asked a lot of questions and Dean had come up with as many answers as he could.

They had both needed _time_. Time was the only thing that would heal some of their deepest wounds.

But Sam was a believer in gut instinct. What all of his instincts told him was that there was something about Dean that was worth whatever they had to go through.

Sam smoothed his fingers through Dean’s hair. It had grown longer since they’d left Winchester Hall. It made Dean look a few years younger and Sam liked it. He liked to think some of the worst years had been wiped away.

Dean’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he reached up to Sam’s collar so he could work the top button free.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked. He tried to keep his lips from curling into a smile but it was impossible.

When Dean looked up, he caught his bottom lip between his teeth for a few moments. He reached up and trailed his finger down Sam’s throat until it reached the next button.

“I thought we could celebrate,” Dean said. His voice was low and smooth.

“What exactly are we celebrating?” Sam asked as his smile became a little more lopsided.

“I suppose we can celebrate you walking without pain,” Dean answered.

“We could.” It was definitely something that made Sam happy. Another reminder of the past gone.

Another button popped free in Dean’s fingers and his eyes flicked down to the appearing flesh of Sam’s chest. “We could celebrate being alone. Just the two of us.”

Sam had to laugh. He loved Cas dearly, but his friend had been overprotective as Sam had been healing. It was as though Dean had a lot more to prove to Cas than he had to prove to Sam.

“You may well laugh,” Dean teased. “I’m still not convinced he will ever trust me.”

Sam’s smile faded slightly. Cas wanted what was best for Sam and he hadn’t always been convinced Dean should be a part of that. Sam felt very differently about it. He felt that Dean _definitely_ was a part of what made him happy.

Sam tightened his arms around Dean and pulled him as close as he could. He and Dean had spent many hours talking about what happened at Winchester Hall. It was always Dean who was hardest on himself. That was what Cas had never seen; how Dean was wrapped up so tightly in guilt.

“I love you,” Sam whispered against his husband’s ear.

“I know,” Dean answered. 

Sam chuckled quietly and pressed his lips to the soft skin just below Dean’s ear. It was nice to have Dean being so playful. There were good days and bad days. Today was a good day.

“Were we going to celebrate?” Sam murmured against Dean’s neck.

All Dean did was nod at first, then he slipped a hand between them to push Sam back slightly. “Well?”

Lifting his eyebrows, Sam pursed his lips slightly. “Well, what?”

“Get undressed,” Dean ordered.

The tone of Dean’s voice sent gooseflesh dancing down Sam’s arms. He swallowed, dragged his thumb across his mouth and then began to unbutton his shirt.

He fumbled with the buttons. The way Dean was looking at him was making Sam’s heart race.

Dean’s eyes were dark, his pupils were wide and there was already a flush on his prominent cheekbones. A sheen appeared on Dean’s lips in the wake of his tongue and he nodded for Sam to continue.

When Sam finally got his shirt undone, he let it slide off his shoulders.

“You’re slow,” Dean murmured. He stepped closer and began to unbutton Sam’s trousers. The material parted quickly and pooled around Sam’s feet.

“You’re in a rush,” Sam.

When Dean looked up, there was a smile back on his face. “I’m only in a rush to have you undressed. You _are_ my husband.”

Warmth burst into Sam’s chest, and he sank his teeth into his bottom lip. “I am.”

Looking pleased, Dean untied the laces on Sam’s underpants until he could push the silk down over his slender hips.

Once he was naked, Sam felt a little cool. He looked pointedly at Dean’s shirt then back up to his eyes.

“You can undress me _any_ time you want,” Dean said firmly.

A thrill skittered down Sam’s spine and he began unbuttoning Dean’s vest. He smoothed his hands over the embroidered material and then slid it off Dean’s shoulders.

The snow white shirt that Dean wore underneath fit his torso perfectly. Sam couldn't help but slide his hands down the starched cotton. He tugged until the shirt was untucked and unbuttoned it from the bottom. When his fingers brushed Dean’s belly he felt his muscles quiver.

Sam _loved_ that he had the power to make Dean feel _so_ much. Just the slightest touch and Dean would blink slowly and lick his lips.

Each button came free faster than the one before. Soon the shirt was just draped over Dean’s shoulders.

Splitting the material with his hand, Sam let his palms smooth down over Dean’s chest. He could feel the way Dean breathed faster, his chest rising and falling quickly. His palms slid around Dean’s sides and pressed against the firm muscles of the small of his back. The strength of Dean’s body was intoxicating. It always made Sam realize what Dean could do to him if he wanted.

When Sam slid his hand under the back of Dean’s waistband he could feel Dean fumbling with his belt. Soon enough, Sam could slide his hands down over the perfect globes of his husband’s ass.

Dean’s pants fell to the floor, and he stepped to the side and kicked them away. Dean had foregone the formality of underpants since they moved. Dean said he didn’t like going to town, so why should he continue to dress so formally? He preferred to be comfortable at home. _Their_ home.

Already aching and hard, Sam shifted closer and pressed his cock to Dean’s muscular thigh.

It only took a moment for Dean to grab Sam and move him towards their four poster bed. It was a bed that Dean had built himself. Even as a child, he had worked with wood. In their _new_ life, Dean was becoming a carpenter.

The bed didn’t make the slightest creak when Dean pushed Sam down onto it. Falling onto his back, Sam let out a quiet moan of pleasure.

When Dean knelt at Sam’s side, he trailed the tips of his fingers along Sam’s collarbone. He slid his fingers into the depression at the base of Sam’s throat, then across to a hardening nipple.

As Dean’s fingers squeezed the sensitive peak of flesh, Sam arched his body up off the bed. He heard Dean gasp and felt him smooth his hands over his body.

It was the most alive that Sam felt. When Dean’s hands were on him, Sam could feel heat pushing its way into every cell in his skin.

Dean’s fingers reached the sensitive groove of flesh from hip to groin.

“Dean,” Sam said breathily. He always wanted more when it came to his husband. He wanted more, and he wanted it faster. But Dean always made him wait.

When their gazes met, Dean’s eyes were black with desire. His skin had a red glow about it and glistened under a sheen of sweat.

Reaching up, Sam tangled his fingers in Dean’s hair. He held on lightly and tugged until Dean fell down against him.

Sam was close enough to breathe in Dean’s sigh. Then their lips met and Sam’s thoughts spun away from him.

The kiss felt like it reached Sam’s soul. Dean’s tongue was hot and insistent and possessed all of Sam’s mouth.

Sam’s nails found purchase on Dean’s shoulder blades. He pushed his hips up to get the sensation of pressure on his aching cock. The flesh of it was so swollen that it was painful.

The tense pleasure in Sam’s chest made it difficult to breathe, and he panted softly in between the ravaging kisses.

Dean’s teeth nipped Sam’s bottom lip, then dragged along his jaw. “I want to fuck you.”

The words sent a thrill through Sam’s body. The words would never pass his husband’s lips anywhere else. It was the thrill of the forbidden. But, it wasn't forbidden for them, not any longer.

Sam’s lashes fluttered closed, and he shivered. He didn’t have to tell Dean his answer. The way his body reacted was proof of how much he wanted it. He couldn’t stop pushing his hips up. His hands were in constant motion, grasping and clutching at Dean’s body.

Dean groaned and rolled them until they were lying on their sides and face to face.

Wasting no time, Sam slung his leg over Dean’s hips and slid one arm high above him to grasp the head board. He pressed his lips to Dean’s, traced his husband’s full bottom lip with the tip of his tongue.

Pressure pushed at Sam’s entrance and he felt Dean’s finger breach his body. Nothing felt better than Dean stretching him open. It ached and sometimes, his body would cramp but the pleasure that was to come always lurked just far enough ahead to keep Sam in the moment with Dean.

Words whispered in Sam’s ear sent the sweetest trembles rippling down his body. Ever so slowly, Dean stretched Sam’s tight muscle open.

If Sam begged, he wasn’t aware of it. Somewhere in his pleasure drowned mind, Sam knew he _needed_ Dean inside him. It wouldn’t have surprised him to know that he asked, pleaded and begged for his husband.

A hand smoothed the furrows in Sam’s brow and then kisses chased away a frown of frustration. Dean was an amazing lover. He was attentive, giving and strong. It was as though he only cared about Sam’s pleasure.

Just about the time Sam felt like his heart might give out, he felt the pressure build again. The blunt head of Dean’s cock pushed past the resistance of Sam’s body. It was heady and exhilarating and Sam wasn’t sure how he was still breathing. It didn’t matter how many times they had been together, each time was a shock and wonderful and Sam was lost in the sensation.

They rolled slightly, Dean slipped his arms under Sam’s knees and lifted them slowly until he could thrust forward and bury his hard cock deep inside his husband.

The intensity of the pain and pleasure made Sam cry out. Dean froze and strained forward to mouth a wet path down Sam’s neck, then his chest. 

As the pain dissipated, Sam opened his eyes slowly and gazed up at Dean. He could stare into Dean’s eyes for days and never stop finding reasons to love him; it was all emotion. All the things that Dean had trouble speaking aloud were etched in his gaze.

Sam managed to lift one hand and slide it along Dean’s arm, to the strength of his shoulder and then to the taut muscles in his neck. He squeezed gently and nodded his assent. He just wanted Dean to move, to thrust into him and send him over the edge.

Turning his face into Sam’s hand, Dean kissed his palm. His hips moved, slowly at first, gentle, teasing thrusts that took Sam’s breath away.

Every inch of Dean’s cock slid deep into Sam and withdrew just enough for him to sense the loss of it. Before he could beg the thick flesh was back again, hot and heavy and filling Sam. His heart pounded emphatically as he struggled to meet Dean’s hips with his own thrusts.

The position was awkward, but the feeling was divine and Sam shivered as he felt Dean’s fiery flesh slide deep into him once more. His vision blurred and he let his head fall back as pleasure made him writhe on the bed.

Dean held himself up with one hand and slid his other hand across Sam’s forearm to pin it to the mattress. The raised flesh of Sam’s scar was still sensitive and he moaned as Dean’s hand curled over the mark. Sam’s fingers made their way into the dark blonde curls at the nape of Dean’s neck and he held on tightly to keep his lover _there_ with him.

The intensity of Dean’s gaze darkened, and he snapped his hips forward repeatedly as Sam rode the building wave of pleasure racing through him. They moved together frantically, hands clinging to each other's bodies, panting, swollen lips sliding over any flesh nearby. Sam could see the sweat sliding from Dean’s temple down the curve of his cheek and his let his hand fall forward to slip through it.

As Sam’s thumb slipped past Dean’s full lips, they both trembled slightly. Dean’s hips continued to drive his cock forward and deep. Sam let his nails drag down his husband’s neck, over his nipple and down to the smooth skin of his hip. A moan slipped from Dean’s mouth and he stretched down to take Sam’s mouth under his.

Dean’s hips snapped forwards a few more times, he gasped for air and then Sam felt the man’s body go almost rigid. He was sure he could feel the throb of Dean’s flesh as he peaked and glided back down through his orgasm.

As Dean struggled to breathe against Sam’s lips, Sam felt the cold thrill of his own frenzied pleasure. His cock throbbed, and he felt the splash of hot come against his belly. Every part of his body ached and trembled and he couldn’t help sinking his teeth into Dean’s bottom lip. 

Dean seemed to come back to himself and pulled back so he could drive forward once more and absolutely capture Sam’s mouth with a deep kiss. His tongue swept past Sam’s teeth and he crushed their lips together.

The intensity of the kiss made Sam’s cock throb weakly and his balls ached. He had loved no one like he loved Dean; he was certain he never would.

Finally, Dean withdrew slightly so he could stare down at Sam. He shifted to let Sam lower his aching legs and smiled crookedly. With a devious glint in his eye, Dean reached down to trail his finger through the cooling come on Sam’s belly.

Already smiling, Sam knocked his husband’s hand away gently. They both knew that Dean hadn’t even touched him and Sam had come as hard as ever. His body was still shuddering every so often, and he was sure he looked a mess.

“You’re so beautiful,” Dean murmured through his smile.

Yes. There were many reasons that Sam loved his husband.


End file.
